Two Destinies
by Kefalion
Summary: There are ordinary people, people with great destinies and there is Harry who has two. He is Harry Potter the-boy-who-lived. He is also Prince Harry Pendragon of Camelot, younger brother of the future King Arthur. He grows up in Camelot and he has to conceal his strange powers from everyone until a young man with a destiny of his own arrives. Harry/Merlin
1. Chapter 1

**Two Destinies**

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**By:** Frida Andreasson a.k.a Kefalion

**This is a:** Harry Potter, BBC's Merlin crossover.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Merlin or Harry Potter that would be BBC and J.K. Rowling respectively. I'm just using their stories, mashing them together to create something new. I'm doing this for my own entertainment and hopefully the entertainment of you guys.

**Summary:** There are ordinary people, people with great destinies and then there is Harry who has two destinies. He is Harry Potter the-boy-who-lived, but he is also Prince Harry Pendragon of Camelot, younger brother of the future King Arthur. He grows up in Camelot and he has to conceal his strange powers from everyone, that is, until a young man with a destiny of his own arrives. Harry/Merlin

**Warnings:** Hmm, what should I warn you about? All of these and more; gore, violence, death, swears, sexual situations, AU, OOC:ness and OC;s (although I always strive to keep everyone in character and to not put too much focus on OC;s)

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**Chapter 1**

_Words: 4 365_

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Albus Dumbledore was just about to turn away Sybill Trelawney. It seemed as the gift of Cassandra had not been passed onto this woman. It was really a shame for he was in need of a replacement professor in divination as soon as possible. The last one had vanished out of the blue even as the semester was in progress.

Albus sighed, feeling old, all of his ninety-eight years weighing heavy on him.

He and the only interviewee that had applied for the post were at the Hogshead in Hogsmeade, instead of up at the school. This was not something that followed the normal protocol, but in these dangerous times he preferred to not let anyone passed the wards if he didn't have to.

Anyway, here he was and in all honesty he hadn't had much hope for this interview; Sybill had never been one of the brightest kneezles in the litter.

He opened his mouth to thank her for her time and then her eyes glazed over behind the thick glasses and she started to speak in a low, rough voice.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and…"

Here a commotion could be heard from outside the door. Albus looked there quickly, but as nothing more could be heard he turned his focus back on the woman.

"…and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the power the Dark Lord knows not will be gained as he fulfils his first destiny at the side of Emerys… if the Vanquisher prevails we will see a renaissance of magic…the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..."

Albus drew in a deep breath as the echo of the last words died. Ms. Trelawney woke from her trance and he smiled.

"Hogwarts would be happy to have you, my dear Sybill. I would like for you to start as soon as possible, the students shouldn't have to go without classes for too long after all."

_.oOo._

"Lily, he's here! Take Harry and go!"

Lily Potter hurried upstairs to the nursery. Harry stood up in his crib gazing at her with soulful green eyes in a shade that mirrored hers.

"I'm so sorry Harry. We should have done more to protect you."

She could hear how Voldemort fired off the killing curse and she knew that James was dead. She bit back a sob and took Harry in her arms. She knew that it was too late. There was no where for them to flee. She couldn't apparate without the risk of harming Harry and she would never leave him behind.

"May god and magic protect you," she whispered and pressed a kiss to the child's smooth brow. She then placed him back in the crib and turned to face the monster who she knew would kill her.

"Please, not Harry," she begged, not truly believing that the Dark Lord would grant them mercy, but having to try no matter what.

"Step aside, you silly girl," a cool, cruel voice commanded

"No, not Harry, please not Harry."

"Move!"

"No, not Harry. Please not my son! Please spare him! K-kill me instead."

"Very well. Avada Kedavra."

Lily Potter died in a flash of green light. The Dark Lord Voldemort walked passed her limp body, approaching the crib of the child who was prophesied to vanquish him.

He sneered at the boy. He was just a toddler and this child would never get the chance to harm him. He looked into innocent, green eyes that looked older then they should. He then raised his wand and uttered the killing curse for the third time that night.

The green light hurtled towards the child. It touched him and the light in his eyes went out, his small body becoming limp and lifeless, then to Voldemort's surprise the curse was reflected back on its caster, but not before it left a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt on the child's forehead.

Voldemort's body was destroyed by the reflecting curse and the Dark Lord fled the scene to weak to do anything other than cling to the earth; desperate not to die even when his body did so.

The town house in Godric's Hollow belonging to the Potters was in ruins. James lay dead in the hallway and Lily lay under a pile of debris in the nursery. In the crib lay the lifeless body of little Harry. The three inhabitants were dead and their unwelcome guest was gone, but the house wasn't empty.

A bright shining spirit of an innocent soul lingered. This soul was Harry.

Harry didn't understand what had happened. He couldn't wake his mama and things were so strange. He felt like he shouldn't be there. It felt wrong. Things were disconnected. Still, this was home. This was where mama and papa were.

He could see a bright light and he longed to go there, at the same time he was scared he didn't want to go. He knew instinctively that he shouldn't go and therefore he lingered; waiting for something to happen.

A man came rushing up the stairs some time later. It was his uncle Paddy.

Paddy was distressed and Harry wanted to know why his uncle was sad. He tried to ask, but he couldn't. Padfoot's tears upset Harry who wanted to cry, but he couldn't even do that, so the spirit rocked back and forth sobbing in a way that had nothing to do with tears.

He was stuck for he refused to go into the light. He had to wait for someone to see him. Mama, Papa, Paddy or Moony. One of them would see him if he just waited.

_.oOo._

Nimueh looked into the water-mirror. She was worried. She couldn't say what worried her she just had a feeling that all their lives would soon be turned upside down and it had everything to do with the heir she had promised Uther Pendragon.

She hadn't told Gaius about the balance, she was sure that the man knew about it so that wasn't her responsibility to inform him. She had a feeling that Gaius hadn't told the king either.

Nimueh wasn't planning on remedying Uther's ignorance, for although she could sense a great change approaching, it had to be allowed to unfold.

Yet there was something she had missed. A piece of the puzzle was missing.

She looked deeper into the water. She could see a bright light at the depth of the pool. It shone with innocence. The spirit was young. It was stubborn; it clung to what was familiar. Nimueh peered at the spirit and saw that it was a soul.

"A dead child," she murmured softly. The priestess was intrigued as to why this boy hadn't passed over. She focused her own powers and let out a gasp.

She could see that the child was bound to life by a tether of strong magic. The magic is of the ancient kind. A blood sacrifice founded in love was what held this soul bound to life.

As she continued to observe she found that the soul was sauntered with magic of its own. This child was magical and it was magic stronger than any she'd seen.

"So much potential," she whispered in awe. "So strong magic and such a pure soul, it is a powerful combination indeed."

Then she understood why the fates had led her to this spirit as she was pondering the unborn heir of Camelot

"With one of magic's own upon the throne we would face an interesting future."

_.oOo._

Sirius held the limp body of his godson in his arms. The small child wasn't breathing. He was devastated by the death of his best friend and Lily; still it was Harry's death that hit him hardest.

He was just an innocent child. Fifteen months old. How evil was Voldemort to kill a baby boy? Sure he was a Dark Lord, but even they should have limits. Right..?

Sirius was shaking with sobs. He was going to murder Peter, that fucking Rat. But he wasn't going to deal out the killing blow until he'd made the scum suffer for what he'd done.

He had been their friend. How could he have done this? Ten years of friendship apparently didn't mean anything to him. He'd always been a coward. How that pathetic excuse of a man had been sorted into Gryffindor was anybody's guess.

"Fucking traitor," Sirius growled out through clenched teeth.

He should never have insisted that they should use Peter as a decoy. He should have taken the duty upon himself, that way they would have been safe. He would have stayed in hiding forever if that was what it took, and if it came down to it he would have taken the secret to his grave.

It was his fault. Why had he made them switch at the last moment? His sobbing increased as he was pained with guilt, tears dripped down on Harry's pale cheek.

He brushed away the soft, black hair from the child's forehead and there he saw something strange. Slightly off centre was an angry, red scar in the shape of a stylistic lightning bolt.

"What's this?" his voice was choked as he uttered the question to the empty room. He traced the scar lightly with the tip of his fingers.

"That is a curse scar," a calm voice said from behind.

Sirius jumped up, Harry still safely pressed against his chest and wand pointing at the intruder. He took in the shape of the man and relaxed visibly when he recognized the long, silver-gray beard, the half-moon shaped glances upon the crocked nose and the inappropriately bright robes.

"Professor? Professor, I didn't do it! I didn't betray James and Lily! It was Pettigrew! I suggested that he should be a decoy!"

"Calm," the old man said, raising both hands in a placating gesture. "I know, Sirius. Don't worry. Peter won't get away with this."

"Alright," Sirius said weakly, visibly deflating with relief, as he was reassured that the man knew of his innocence.

"That scar is saturated with dark magic," said Albus Dumbledore. "Can I look closer at the boy?"

Sirius reluctantly held Harry in a different position which made it possible for the Headmaster to see his face.

"Now I understand what happened to Voldemort," Dumbledore murmured after touching Harry's brow and casting a few spells.

That Sirius didn't flinch at the name was a testimony to how distraught he was.

"What do you mean, sir?" Another signed to the emotional upheaval he had experienced over the last hours was how polite he was being. Usually Sirius wasn't one to put any stress on correct behaviour, but when stressed he would fall back into the patterns which his mother had drilled into him from a young age.

"Harry has been hit by the killing curse, just as James and Lily, but something other then his death occurred."

"What? He is dead."

"So it appears, but I wouldn't be so sure. His spirit is still here."

_.oOo._

The Queen of Camelot was a beautiful woman, anyone would attest to it. She had a soft face, but it still had character. There was strength in her clear blue eyes, and since she'd gotten pregnant she had only grown even more beautiful. She was radiant with joy and her smile was contagious.

Ygraine was seated by the window in her chambers gazing out at the falling rain which obscured the view of the city down below. Her hand was held protectively over her swollen belly. She could feel a kick and she smiled; content in knowing that she would give her beloved husband the heir he craved.

"Ygraine."

The Queen of Camelot looked away from the window and smiled at her friend.

"Nimueh! I'm glad to see you. What brings you here?"

Nimueh was a beautiful woman in her own right. She had electric blue eyes and deep brown hair that contrasted to the Queens golden locks.

"I have a proposal. I've seen a way to give you a child that would be without payment."

Ygraine's blue eyes widened before they became slits, she knew well enough that nothing was ever given for free; even between friends you couldn't be certain. There was something suspicious about this.

Nimueh had already graced her with a child. It wasn't an issue any more. "Why would you do this? What's in it for you?"

Nimueh decided to be frank. Ygraine had always looked kindly on the Old Religion and its practitioners. "The child I could give you would have magic. With a child of magic on the throne we would know true and long-lived peace."

Ygraine had to smile again. That sounded well enough, and she could understand what her friend would gain. Still she couldn't accept without knowing more. "And what would happen with the child in my womb?" she asked.

"He will die."

The blond woman gasped. "I can't do it! He is alive and he is mine!" Ygraine shook her head vehemently. "I will pay for him when the time comes, but I will do nothing to harm him. Never."

"I beg you to reconsider. There are more lives in question then yours or mine or even your child's."

"No, I will not kill this child for another! I'd rather lose my own life."

"I see. Your mind is set."

"It is."

"Would you still accept the child I offer? If you could have both?"

"I'd get another child?" Ygraine could hardly believe it. She had been told that she and Uther would never have any child to call their own. Then by some miracle their friend who was a Priestess of the Old Religion had presented them with a way, and now she was told that she could have another child.

"Yes. With no harm done to your first son."

The fair-haired Queen smiled a bright smile that put the sun to shame. "I accept."

_.oOo._

Harry watched sadly as his Paddy cried over his body, and he watched in stillness as a man he'd never seen before arrived. He couldn't understand what they were going on about and soon he could feel his concentration slipping. There was a new light which drew his attention.

The light was dark and warm; even though it was a contradiction there was no other possible way to describe the sensation. It reminded him of his mother and it made him feel safe. In the dark light he could sense the presence of two women. One of them felt just like his mother; safe, warm and loving. Maybe that was his mother? He had wondered where she was.

He touched the light and felt a zap. That hurt. He recoiled. Even if his mother was waiting for him he couldn't go. He tried again and it hurt just as the first time.

The other woman reached out for him. She felt cool, much like water. He liked water. Her touch soothed the hurting and he was brought into the dark, warm light.

_.oOo._

"He's breathing!" Sirius exclaimed. Harry's cheeks had gone flush with blood as his heart started beating again.

"Astounding," Dumbledore whispered.

"Harry! Harry!" Sirius called out to his godson, trying to wake him. The child wouldn't rouse and the wizard begun to panic.

"Stop it, my boy," the older man said gently. "Harry won't wake."

"What? What do you mean? He started to breathe again! His heart is beating! He is alive again! Why wouldn't he wake up?"

"His soul isn't here anymore."

"What?" Sirius felt that this was way over his head. "Tell me what you know, Dumbledore! This is about my godson, damn it! I have a right to know what's going on! James and Lily are dead, and now you are telling me that Prongslet who just came back to life, wont wake up!"

The old wizard sighed deeply and sat down heavily in a rocking chair that stood in a corner of the wracked nursery. "The reason that the Potters became targets of Voldemort's and had to go into hiding was a prophecy."

"A prophecy?" Sirius scoffed and stroked Harry's cheek to keep from doing something rash.

"There are some true prophecies. I witnessed a true prophecy that spoke of the fall of Voldemort. Harry is destined to defeat him. But as it appears he has another destiny and he had to leave us in order to fulfil it. He will wake in time. When the time is right, Harry will return and hopefully save us all."

"How do you know?"

"For it has already happened."

_.oOo._

Uther sat on the throne. The only sign of the tension the King felt was the rapping of his fingers in a steady pattern against the armrest.

The Queen was in labour and everyone who was important had gathered in the citadel's throne room to await news. Soft chatter filled the hall, but no one engaged the King in conversation, knowing well that it wasn't the time for that.

The grand doors were opened and through them walked the Court Physician Gaius.

The old man walked up to the king and he smiled. "Congratulations, sire. You are the father of a healthy baby boy."

Uther let out a relieved sigh and sagged a bit on his throne. "And Ygraine? How is my Queen?"

"She is resting. The birth was straining, but she will be alright."

Now the King smiled. He rose from his seat, back straight and face proud. "Rejoice my Friends. Camelot has a Crown Prince!"

Cheers followed those words, but the celebrations were cut short for over the clamour a bloodcurdling shriek was heard.

"Gaius," the king said in a warning tone. "What is happening?"

"I don't know, sire."

A woman came running into the hall a few moments later. Her hands and clothes were drenched in blood. Some of the knights drew their swords preparing to meet an enemy.

"Sire," the young woman sobbed out before her voice died in a choke.

"What is it girl? Tell me!"

"It's the Queen, she…" The woman didn't get an opportunity to say more.

Uther rushed out; his cape billowing and Gaius tight on his heels.

He strode to the royal bed chamber where everything was deathly quiet.

The Queen's hand maiden stood inside the door. Her face was stained with blood. Her eyes lowered.

"I'm sorry, sire," she whispered.

The King passed her and took in the scene. Ygraine lay on the bed. Her blond hair spread out over the pillow. Her face was covered in sweat, but she looked serene, almost like she could be sleeping. Her pale lips were slightly upturned in a small smile, as if a lovely dream graced her sleep. Her elegant hands were entwined and rested on her once again flat stomach, but below her hands waited a nightmare.

"No." Uther saw it bit he did not believe it. He could not.

Everything was red. The sheets were soaked in blood. The King collapsed to the floor.

"Noooo!" Another scream echoed through Camelot that night, followed by the squeals of two infants.

_.oOo._

"You knew this would happen!" Uther accused and charged at the woman sword raised, ready to strike.

Nimueh looked impassively at the raging man. With a whispered word her eyes glowed and a barrier was erected around her, making her safe from any hostile advances.

"What did I know?" she asked with stoic calmness.

"Ygraine is dead! My wife is dead!" Uther cried.

Nimueh's emotionless mask faltered a little as she was filled with sadness. Her friend was dead. She had said that she was willing to give up her life for her son. However anger at the accusation took precedence over grief.

"You knew that Ygraine would die! She's dead and it's your fault!"

"Listen to me Uther Pendragon! It is not my fault that your wife is dead! You came to me asking me to provide you with an heir! Do you not have a son know? Are you not happy?"

"I never agreed to this! You never told me that she would die…" the King's voice broke.

"That's the way of the old religion," Nimueh said matter of factly. "There must always be balance; a life for a life. It was never said what life would be taken. There was no way for me to know that Ygraine would have to pay the price."

"You lie! You knew!" the King raged.

"You will not see reason, so I won't even try." The woman sighed and rose from her seat. She walked to the barrier and stood a foot from the angered man, staring steadily into his eyes.

"I gave you what I promised. You have a son, oh forgive me. You have two sons. You got more out of the bargain then anticipated. You should be pleased."

"Pleased? You mock me, you vile sorceress! My beloved wife is dead. I will never know happiness again."

"I see."

"I banish you from Camelot. If you ever return you will be executed. You have until sunset to leave my Kingdom. If I ever see you again I'll burn you at the stake. You and all of those with magic will pay for what you've robbed from me. I swear that I will purge the evil of magic from this world."

"You speak of things you don't understand! Magic is everywhere and you cannot shut it out. Your own blood will rise up against you if you try!"

"Quiet, witch! Be gone before I slay you where you stand!"

"You will regret this Uther. You have my word."

"We shall see."

"We shall. And it might be sooner than you would like."

_.oOo._

It was a month later and Uther had still to go and see his son. He had made known that all magic was banned from his Kingdom. A decree had been erected which said that you would face a penalty of death if you preformed any magic.

He had confronted Gaius who had forsworn the Old Religion and Magic, and he had been allowed to stay as court physician.

He had also faced Tristan de Bois, Ygraine's brother in single combat. Tristan blamed the King for his sister's death.

Uther had won the duel and with his dying breath Tristan had sworn that he would rise from the dead to avenge Ygraine.

Uther hadn't been in his right mind ever since he lost his wife. He only knew anger. He only knew his quest to eradicate all magic from the world.

"Sire?" Uther was alone in the in the audience hall when Gaius approached him.

"What do you want, Gaius?" the King asked roughly. He had still to forgive the court physician.

"You haven't seen your heir yet."

"I haven't, have I?"

He had been so devastated that he hadn't gone to see the child. He still didn't know if he could. If it weren't for the child his Ygraine would still be alive. But he would never blame a child. No one chooses to be born. It wasn't the child's fault that Ygraine was dead, and he shouldn't have to suffer for it.

"I should see him then." Uther said and rose from his seat.

"Them, sire."

"Them?"

Nimueh's words came back to him. She had said that he had two sons.

"You have two sons, both healthy and strong. Twins. They were born only minutes apart. I came to inform you as soon as the first boy was born. None of us had thought that the Queen would have twins. It was hard on her to give birth to the first boy and her body couldn't handle another one so soon after."

Uther remained mute as the two men walked to the room where the children were kept.

A nurse curtsied when they arrived. "Your Majesty."

"Leave," he told her shortly, and she left with another curtsy.

Uther approached the crib hesitantly. He had never hesitated when he went into battle, but facing his own child was much harder.

Gaius noticed his unease and picked up one child. "This is your eldest, the crown prince. You have to name him."

Uther looked down at the bundle in Gaius' arms. Amid the red cloth there was a small face with a perfect button nose, perky pink lips and rosy cheeks. A tuft of blond hair covered the forehead and the child had blue eyes. Uther smiled as he looked into eyes that looked so much like his own.

"Arthur," he whispered, "my son."

He took the bundle from Gaius and regretted that he hadn't gone to see his son sooner. This was the most precious thing he had. His son. His heir. All that he had left of Ygraine and he would never forget that.

Gaius presented him with the other bundle. The child looked just like his brother. He had the same nose, lips and blond hair. His eyes were closed so the now very proud father couldn't tell if his second son also shared his eyes.

Uther tried to think of a name. He had been settled on Arthur for a long time. Ygraine had agreed with him, even if it had been his choice. The King tried to think what she would have liked. He closed his eyes for a moment and thought that he could hear a whisper in the wind that came in through the open window.

"Harry," he said softly. He opened his eyes and met green orbs.

He had lost something that nothing ever could replace, but he had gained something of great value. Camelot would be safe for now he had heirs who could one day take up his crown.

"Arthur and Harry; the princes of Camelot."

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**End Chapter 1**

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**AN 1st December 2012:**

So I started a new story. A crossover. I've read a lot of Merlin/Harry Potter crossovers lately and I've become sort of addicted to them, and now that I've begun to run out of stories to read I had to start my own. I have read all Harry Potter Books, but when it comes to Merlin I've seen as far as the first episode of season 4, I'll watch more though that's for sure.

I hope you enjoyed this "prologue" and that there weren't too many spelling mistakes. If anyone would like to beta the story feel free to let me know. I'd also be happy to know what you think and what you would like to happen.

**AN 21st Mars 2013:**

I haven't written much on this story for some time, and in order to get into it again I'm looking at what I've posted, so I've fixed a few mistakes I spotted and changed a word or two. Nothing major.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two Destinies**

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**Chapter 2**

_Words: 5 378_

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In an extravagantly decorated room, in a large four-poster bed, with sheets of silk and hangings of velvet a young man tossed and turned in his sleep.

Sweat was pearling on his brow and small whimpers escaped his lips. His blond hair was tussled and the sheets rumpled, his fingers clawing the fabric.

He woke with a start, sitting up stiffly, panting heavily. As he opened his eyes it was shown that they were a bright emerald colour that shone even in the darkness of the night.

He got up from the bed, needing to find his brother. He shivered from the cold of the stone floor against his bare feet as much as the dream which had woken him.

He hurried out of the room, walked a short distance down the corridor and opened the first door on the right, entering another bedchamber which looked a lot like the one he had just left. He went over to a bed where an identical blond man slept peacefully.

"Arthur," he whispered touching the other man's shoulder, rousing him.

"What?" the man in the bed grumbled sleepily. "Harry?" He became more alert; opening blue eyes. "Did you have another nightmare?"

"Yes."

"Too bad," he muttered burrowing his face in his pillow. "We're too old to share a bed."

"Please."

Arthur groaned. He could never resist for long when he brother used that tone. It reminded him too much of a time a few years ago, when Harry had been very vulnerable. "Get here then." He held up his covers and the other young man entered the bed.

Harry snuggled close to Arthur, taking comfort in the warmth his brother emitted.

"Was it the same one, the one with green light?" Arthur asked.

"Yes," Harry whispered against his brother's shoulder. "But there was more to it. It has changed. I could here a cold laugh and a woman screaming."

"You really should tell father about this."

"No. He will only worry."

Arthur sighed, used to his brother's stubbornness. "What about Gaius? I'm sure he could help you. He could give you the same tonic he gives to Morgana."

"I have all the help I need. You keep the dreams at bay better then any tonic could."

"I'm worried about you. You've had these dreams for as longs as I can remember and if they are growing worse…"

"I'll be fine."

"That's what you always say… to everything."

"I say it because it's true. Let's just go to sleep."

"If you're sure."

"I am."

Arthur let out another sigh which turned into a yawn. "Good night, brother."

"Good night, Arthur. Thank you."

Arthur was soon asleep again, while Harry lay awake for a long time, remembering.

He thought about the dream. It didn't scare him anymore as nothing could really bother him with his brother so close. With his twin brother's heartbeat in his ears nothing could touch him. No monsters, no dreams and no guilt.

Harry had always known that his dreams weren't normal. His nightmares wouldn't scare another person as all there was to them was sharp green light. Or it had been until today. Now this cold laughter and the panicked scream of a woman had been added. Through his other abnormal dreams he had learnt what that laughter and the scream meant and it was this that scared him.

While Harry did have dreams like everyone else about mundane things, and twisted versions of what had happened during his waking hours, the strange dreams were much more common.

Besides the nightmares that he had had for as long as he could remember, he also had another set of dreams, which had evolved to something so much more when he grew older.

Even as a child he had liked those other dreams and it didn't change over the years, he grew to like them more.

Arthur was the only one who knew about the nightmares. Harry felt that they were a weakness and as he had already found the cure, he saw no reason for letting anyone else in on the secret.

But when it came to the _other _dreams, he hadn't told anyone; not his father, or his sister in all but blood, Morgana. He hadn't even told his brother Arthur, with whom he was closer then anyone else. For there were things that his brother could never know, it was for the safety of them both.

In these dreams which appeared so real Harry would feel as if he was awake, simply lying safely tucked in a soft bed with his eyes closed. He always felt so safe and loved. Everything would be peaceful and the silence was only broken by the soft speech of a man.

The man had a nice voice. It was warm and melodic; still it had a tone of sadness in it.

For the longest time Harry had been unable to understand what the man was saying. He was speaking in a language that Harry had never heard elsewhere. It was strange, yet felt familiar and resembled his own tongue. He guessed that it must be some dialect from another part of the realm.

At first Harry had learned to recognise individual words, and then he could understand whole sentences, until it one day was no different from hearing his own language.

Once Harry could understand what the man was telling him, he enjoyed the dreams all the more. Most of the time he was told stories; stories of four boys who went to school in a castle. What both scared and intrigued Harry about it was that they went to this school to learn _magic_.

Magic. How fascinating it was to hear about it from another viewpoint then the one presented in his father's lectures. It was amazing to hear what wonders sorcery could accomplish and how natural it was for this man to speak of it. It became clear to Harry that to this man, magic was his entire world and he would grieve if he was ever to lose it. It was so different to think that magic was the norm for his people, and it was those without magic who were strange.

During his waking hours magic was no source of joy, seeing as if there was anything his father King Uther Pendragon of Camelot hated; it was magic. Magic in all its forms.

The King did not hold back in his preaching saying with absolute conviction that sorcery was the source of all evil, and he was adamant that his sons learn this one, fundamental truth.

Both Arthur and Harry had witnessed more then one time as the punishment for the practise of witchcraft was carried out. They were not shielded from the harsh reality, always being told the crimes committed and forced to see the doom being executed.

Harry hated it. Oh, how he hated it. He couldn't understand why children were burned just because they had made an object fly, or had repaired a broken toy. How could that make them evil? How did that make them a threat to the kingdom? How could that make it justified to take their lives?

He knew that not all magic could be evil for the voice which spoke to him in his dreams told of such wonders. He heard tales of creation, pranks and it was all laced with joy. Harry was sure that sorcery couldn't be inherently bad. According to him it was the intent which decided whether something was good or bad.

Harry had watched mothers cry as their children screamed when the flames licked their bodies. He'd seen the roles reversed, with children having to watch their fathers being beheaded. He knew it was wrong and he tried to tell his father so already at a young age.

_.oOo._

"_Father," Harry said as he and his brother stood next to the King on the balcony overlooking the courtyard of the citadel. A woman was being led to the stake where she would burn._

"_Yes, son?" Uther said indulgently, not taking his eyes of the scene below._

"_This isn't right," the eleven year old boy said._

"_Not right?" their father questioned in a hiss, turning to his son._

"_Keep quiet, Harry," Arthur whispered through his teeth at his brother, elbowing him in the ribs, for he recognized that their father's ire was rising. _

"_That woman has not done any wrong! She just tried to feed her children! That should not be punishable by death!"_

"_She was caught red-handed practising sorcery! It is banned within this Kingdom! There is no innocent use of magic! It corrupts and will be used for evil if it is not controlled! I can not pardon it, no matter how it has been used! For if it is not to cause death and misery today, it will be tomorrow! I must protect the people!"_

"_This is not protecting them! This is unjust and wrong! She was using the skills she had at hand to take care of her family. She used what ever means necessary for them! Would you not have done the same?"_

_That was the wrong thing to say; for it awoke memories within the King of how magic had torn the woman he loved from him as he aspired to have a family. He struck out without thought, the palm of his hand hitting Harry's cheek making the boy stumble back, falling down._

"_You will never speak back to me like that! Do you hear me, Harry! You are not to question me! Least of all in public! I hope you have learnt your lesson, because I do not wish to punish a child. Are we clear?"_

_Harry stared up defiantly at his father, green eyes blazing. "You have no qualms about killing children, why would I be any different?"_

"_Harry!" Arthur hissed at his brother. "Please father, he does not mean it…"_

_Harry interrupted him. "I do! This is wrong and I will not stand for it!"_

_Uther grabbed his son's arm in a bruising grip, dragging him inside, out of the eyes of the people down below._

"_Harry, my son," the King said in a gentler voice, which still rung with the harshness of steel, "you must understand the evil of sorcery. It killed your mother, it tore the land apart. It cannot be controlled. There will always be people who use it to do evil. I cannot with good conscience allow it within my Kingdom. I have a zero tolerance so that everyone shall know what befalls you if you dare use these powers for harm. As you grow older you will see the evil that is done and you will understand the truth. For now I command you to hold your peace. You are not to talk against me in this matter or I will be forced to punish you."_

"_I can hold my peace, but you have yet to convince me that this cause is just. How can it be right to execute someone who is just trying to survive? Punish the ones who do wrong, whether by magic or other means, but do not harm the innocents! Please father! Would you have me killed if I possessed magic? Would you judge someone simply for what they are born like?"_

_Uther went down on his knees, placing his hands on his son's shoulders. Arthurs stood behind him watching the scene in silence. _

"_That is a choice I will never have to make."_

"_Would you kill me?"_

"_Harry…"_

"_Would you?" Harry demanded._

"_I will not discuss this. You will understand when you are older. For now I require you to swear not to speak against me."_

_Harry glared; his green eyes sparkling in defiance, clearly noting his father's evasion. "I swear that I'll be silent. For now."_

_.oOo._

That had been nine years ago, and it was the first and only time Uther had ever struck one of his sons. He never raised his hand against Harry again, not even when he grew older and started to speak up once more.

Harry had always felt strongly for the plight after the magical folk and it was soon after the event on the balcony when that woman was to be burnt that Harry learnt why. He was one of them.

Strange things began to happen around him when he was filled with any strong emotions. Items would rattle, burst into flames or float serenely around the room depending on his mood.

It scared him a lot because he did not understand it, and he did not dare tell anyone for he feared that if anyone found out he would be killed.

His father had never said outright that Harry would be spared and he fully believed that his father would not give him any special treatment if he found out about Harry's powers. Harry knew that the King would protect his sons from much, making exceptions for them, but when it came to sorcery, no one was above the law. This meant that no one could know.

This was his biggest secret and it hung heavy on him. There were many times when he wished he could tell someone. He longed to tell his brother, but he did not dare. It wasn't that he did not trust Arthur for he would place his life in his brother's hands without a second thought. The thing was that Arthur would be in danger as well if he had to keep that secret, this was what kept Harry from telling him.

Harry didn't really have any control over his powers, he tried to make things happen at will and nothing would stir, but make him angry, scared or happy and small things would happen around him.

This was no trouble at first, it didn't hurt anyone and luckily neither was there anyone who noticed. He tried to master his newly discovered abilities, spending many hours in the castle's library, leafing through ancient tomes as he tried to find anything that would be of use. It was hard, for almost all books on magic had been destroyed when Uther purged the land of sorcery.

Harry's studies went slow, as he also had to do it in secrecy, never allowing anyone to see what he was up to, and he found that it grew hard to come upon any time to do this.

When he and Arthur turned twelve their free life as children was over. Studies and duties were piled on their shoulders, leaving even less time in which Harry could learn to control the power which slumbered within him.

He and Arthur were given their first personal servants and they were assigned to a knight who would help them learn everything they needed.

The relationships which evolved between the two princes and their aides were very different. Arthur saw his servants as just that and he would switch to new ones often as they failed to live up to his expectations.

And the Crown Prince saw the knight assigned to him as nothing more than a tutor, this might have been because the man assigned to him was gruff and old; a veteran who had fought at the side of their father. Uther had chosen a man he trusted and who was a good leader, that didn't mean he had the qualities needed to befriend a young prince.

For Harry things were different, he found fast and loyal friends in the men he now had to spend most of his time with.

He became very close to his manservant who was a stout man by the name of Esmond. If there was one thing to be said about Esmond it was that he was reliable, hardworking and good natured. He was tall and dark, which at a first glance could be intimating, but once you saw past his exterior he was one of the gentlest souls you could hope to meet.

Harry could never have asked for a better man in his service. If he was close to Esmond it was nothing to how it took to Sir Beren of Laelian.

Sir Beren was one of the younger knights, but he was already the Lord of a small patch of land somewhere to the south of Camelot, west of the forest of Balor near the border to the Kingdom of Cenred.

His lands were desolate and nearly no one lived there anymore for a great fire had taken everything. Sir Beren had no reason to return there as his family had died in the fire. He thought that he could be of much better use to the Kingdom serving as a knight in Camelot.

Beren was one of the youngest nobles to ever be knighted and it was due to his skill that this had been possible.

The two Princes were naturals when it came to art of combat with sword and shield. By the time they had seen sixteen summers they were the equal to not say better than any of the knights serving in Camelot and they had earned their knighthood, the youngest ever to do so. This was one of Uther's proudest moments.

_.oOo._

"_The tournament is coming up," King Uther said. He was seated by the table, wine goblet in hand as he enjoyed dinner together with his sons and his ward the Lady Morgana. "As you are knights now you are able to compete. I expect that you will make me proud."_

"_We will, father," Arthur was quick to say. He was eager to join in the tournament of Camelot. For many years he had waited for the time when he would be able to walk into the arena to the sound of the cheering crowd. Naturally he dreamed about winning, and he knew that he know possessed the skill which could make it more than a dream._

_Harry was quiet, making a piece of bread turn into crumbs in his fingers._

"_Harry?" the King questioned. "Why are you quiet?"_

"_I do not wish to compete," the younger of the two brothers said in a low voice._

"_What?" Morgana, Uther and Arthur exclaimed uncomprehendingly._

"_I do not wish to take part in the tournament. I do not enjoy the eyes of the crowd on me. Competing for glory is a silly endeavour, serving no true purpose."_

"_This tournament does have a purpose, it entertains the people, keeping them happy and at peace. It shows them and those who would oppose us that we are strong and can protect the Kingdom," Uther said. "You will compete, Harry, it is your duty."_

"_No. Arthur is the heir. That duty is his, not even half of the city knows that you have two sons! No one will care whether I participate or not." _

"_I care," Arthur mumbled._

_Harry gave his brother a small smile._

"_That's all the more reason for them to see you!" Uther exclaimed. "You are just as skilled as your brother. United no one would dare to oppose you."_

"_Don't you see? That is exactly why I should not compete! What unity will it show when we are to face each other? No, I fear that it will only divide us if we have to fight."_

_His three companions stayed silent, contemplating Harry's point._

"_I know my place," Harry stated. "You have drilled my duty into my mind. Arthur will be king one day and I will stand in his shadow. I will be by his side as his advisor, friend and last defence. This is no different. If you would allow it, sire, I'd like to take care of the security during the festivals. This is where my skills will be best utilised."_

"_I see your point," Uther conceded, "but I hold fast to that having the two of you compete in the tournament would still show the people the strength of the Pendragons." _

_He was quiet for a moment, a completive look in his eyes. Slowly he put his wine goblet down and gave Harry a levelled look. "I will allow you your wish on one condition."_

"_Anything, sire." Harry said hastily, eager for the chance to do something he thought truly mattered._

"_I see that you do not wish to show your skill with the crowds, I ask you instead of a private display. Before the tournament begins I would like to see a duel between you and your brother. If you win I will allow you to take control of the security during the tournament. If you lose, you will compete."_

"_Father," Arthur said. "Harry and I face each other almost daily on the training grounds. How will this be any different? We have defeated each other equally many times."_

"_The difference is that this time Harry has something to fight for."_

_.oOo._

In the end the duel had lasted for three hours after which they were in a stalemate, both with their weapons at the other's throat.

Uther had enjoyed watching the fight, and had allowed Harry his boon even though he hadn't actually won.

Some days later Arthur showed that he was worthy of the honour of being one of the youngest knights in history by winning the tournament of Camelot, besting none other then the Champion of the previous year, Harry's mentor Sir Beren, in the final.

It was until the autumn that year that Harry kept his peace, watching in silence when ever he saw some injustice being carried out in his father's name.

He tried to deny who and what he was, but something happened then which wouldn't allow him to continue ignoring his nature.

He lost his innocence and never again would he stand to see an innocent wrongly punished and if he had to go against his father's word; then so be it.

_.oOo._

"_Let me come with you," Harry begged of his former mentor. _

_Sir Beren was to lead a company of ten knights to the forest of Balor where a band of robbers had established their base. From the forest they prayed on the lowlands south of Camelot and the villages there had come to the city, asking the King for help._

_Sir Beren had been chosen for the mission as he knew the land, being the Lord of a nearby area._

_The older man smiled. "It is not necessary. We will be able to take care of these measly thieves. They are just robbers after all. Do you not trust in the abilities of me and our fellow knights?"_

"_Of course I do. It is the forest I don't trust. They say it is filled with strange beasts which will not hesitate to kill anyone who comes in their path."_

"_It is true that the forest holds many dangers, but I know how to avoid them, the bandits on the other hand are new to the land and will not have the same advantage. It will be fine."Beren clasped Harry's shoulder in a reassuring gesture. "I'll see you upon my return."_

"_I'll hold you to that. Be careful."_

"_I always am."_

_.oOo._

_Some ten days later Harry had been walking to the Audience Hall, seeking the council of the King in a small matter that was soon forgotten. He stopped outside the doors when he heard voices from the other side._

"_The bandits are dead, sire. They will no longer pray on the villages to the south."_

"_This is good. Well done. But why isn't it Sir Beren who is telling me of this victory?"_

"_The victory was a costly one. Only four of us have returned. The bests of the forest slew both the bandits and our own. Sir Beren gave his life so that I and my comrades could return." _

_Harry heard no more. Blood pounded in his ears and an ice-cold fist grabbed his heart. He could scarcely believe it. Beren was dead. His mentor. His tutor. His friend. _

_He had broken his promise. He had said he would return, but he never would. His body would rot, forgotten in the forest for all times._

_He would never get to see Beren's broad smile again; never get to listen to his stories, never cross blades with him in friendly battle again._

_Harry could feel something breaking inside, a wall was crumbling to dust and he knew that he had to be alone for when it did._

_He stumbled through the corridors to his chambers, desperate to get alone. He could feel that behind that wall lay his powers, all the magic he had within and it wanted to break free, stirred by his anguish and grief._

_The magic was rising quickly and Harry feared what would happen if someone was around to witness it. At the moment he did not care about it being discovered, he just knew that he had to get away or someone would get hurt._

_He rushed blindly, not noticing that he almost knocked down his own manservant Esmond._

"_My Lord? Harry!"_

_Harry did not hear, he burst into his chambers and collapsed on the floor. He tried to hold the magic back as tears was flowing down his face. He felt as if a large whole had been ripped out of his chest._

_He had never known pain like this. He felt such longing and anguish, toppled off with guilt. He should have insisted on coming. He could have done something. He did not know what, but he was sure that if he had been there things would have been different._

_As his frame shock with sobs various objects around his chambers began to vibrate, a sign to all that Harry was loosing grip on his powers. _

_Esmond came rushing into his room. "Sire! Harry! What's wrong? You must tell me!"_

"_Leave!" Harry said in the most commanding tone he could muster. With objects rattling on their shelves it would be a miracle if Esmond did not figure out what he was, and he couldn't know. "Leave!" he yelled when the man didn't move._

"_No. You are distraught and shouldn't be left alone." The man looked warily around the chamber understanding at once what was going on, which only served to make Harry all that more upset. "Harry, you must calm down."_

"_I can't," Harry sobbed. "Beren is dead. He is dead."_

"_Harry…"_

"_You see what I am! You have to get the hell out of here!"_

"_No. I'm not leaving you."_

"_Esmond, please… Get out! I won't be able to hold back! I will hurt you!"_

"_No you won't," the man said stubbornly, sitting down next to Harry and enveloping him in a warm embrace._

_The dam within Harry burst and items in the room started to explode. The windows were first to go, followed by the armoury. Splinters of wood and glass rained down on them. _

_A fire broke out and in his state of upheaval Harry did not see things as usual and the fire frightened him, making his reaction grow stronger. _

_Esmond yelled at him, trying in vain to calm him down. Nothing worked._

_Harry begun to scream, the magic that was channelled through him was too strong and it hurt him. Esmond tried to tightened his hold, trying to make him see reason, but Harry was no longer conscious. The magic had a life of its own, tearing its master apart from within._

_Esmond was a simple man, he had no knowledge about magic, but he had seen men go into hysteria before and he knew that there was only one thing to do. _

_He took up a stone that had fallen from the ceiling and hit Harry over the head, effectively knocking him out and stopping the magic._

_.oOo._

_Harry awoke to a pounding headache. He could feel soft, cool hands against his brow, and when he opened his eyes, strong, callused hands immediately grabbed his own._

_Harry blinked, making his blurry vision clearer. "Father?" he croaked out. His tongue felt like a piece of old leather in his mouth. _

_The hands on his forehead went away and a goblet of water was held to his lips. He drank greedily, however it was taken away far too soon in Harry's opinion, but he knew even in his lucid state that too much water would make him ill. He looked up and saw that it was Arthur who had given him water._

"_Thanks," he mumbled._

_Morgana was also there, Harry guessed that it had been her hands against his forehead._

"_Oh, Harry." He turned again to his father when the man spoke. "You need not worry. That man will never hurt you again."_

"_What are you speaking of?"_

"_I will never forgive myself for hiring that man to serve you. Though I must say I would never have thought that he would try to kill you; using enchantments and sorcery no less."_

"_What?"_

"_Harry, don't you remember?" his brother asked._

_Harry though back, and gave a whimper. Beren. Esmond. He understood what had happened and it horrified him._

"_I came upon the scene myself," the King said. "That man was standing over you, there was broken glass and splinters of wood all over your camber and there was fire and you were lying there, unconscious."_

"_No," Harry said weakly, certain that he was going to be sick. "Is he dead? Is Esmond dead?"_

"_Yes."_

_Harry sat up and hurled over the edge of the bed._

"_Arthur, go fetch Gaius, Harry is not well." The noise of the vomit hitting the floor was horrible making the King ad; "and tell him to hurry!"_

"_Yes, father." Arthur ran off, an expression of worry on his face._

"_Harry, just calm down, son. Everything is fine. No one will hurt you again. Tell me what is wrong." Uther felt helpless and it was not a feeling he particularly enjoyed. He rubbed his son's back softly as he hurled, but nothing more came up. He looked into his wards eyes as he had to sit and watch his son suffer. _

_Morgana shared his pain. It's never easy to see one you love hurting. They were both thinking about how they were going to tell Harry about Sir Beren's death; silently agreeing that it would have to wait. A long time. _

_After some time Harry stopped and fell back against the pillow._

"_How are you feeling?" Morgana asked gently._

"_I'm fine" he muttered. "I just want to sleep."_

_When Arthur returned with the Court Physician, Harry was asleep once more._

_.oOo._

_Harry dreamed, he was lying tucked in a bed, and he could hear the man speaking. _

"_It was in our seventh and final year," he said a smile in his voice. "James pulled a prank without telling any of us that he had planned to do it. And it was amazing! He did it on a teacher and he didn't even get detention for it! It was in transfiguration class and the old cat McGonagall was…"_

_Harry didn't listen. Though he was asleep he couldn't escape the guilt. It might not have been his fault that Sir Beren had died, even thought it felt like it. But that Edmond's life was over was without at doubt his fault._

_Esmond had been executed for performing sorcery even though he was innocent. It had been him, Harry, who had done magic. Esmond had done nothing wrong. He had tried to help, refusing to abandon him._

_And it was all because Harry couldn't control his own powers. He had tried to learn, but it was impossible as he could only do it in secret and there was no one to teach him, but he had to learn. Now it was more important than ever._

_He owed it to Esmond. No one would ever have to pay for his mistakes again. No innocent should ever have to be punished again. He swore then and there that he would make it so, and he knew just how to do it._

_Through all the years when he had dreamed of this man, he had just lain there, but now he tried to move._

_Now he opened his mouth and spoke in the familiar language that wasn't his own. "Please teach me how to control my magic."_

* * *

**End Chapter 2**

* * *

**AN 29th December 2012:**

A big thank you goes out to **ihategoodbyes** for proof reading this chapter. THANK YOU!

I'd also like to thank everyone who has shown support of this story in some way, either by reviewing, adding it to favorites or alerts.

So that was chapter two, we get a look on Harry's childhood in Camelot. Sorry about the angst. There won't be much more of it, but it was needed to give Harry motivation to stand up to his father for himself and other people with magic.

I hope you liked the chapter, and I hope you'll join me again for chapter 3

**AN 21st Mars 2013:**

I've edited this chapter, weren't a lot of mistakes, thanks to ihategoodbyes I'm sure. Still it was good to read through it again. Hopefully I'll be able to write something new as I'm starting to remember my own story again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Two Destinies**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

_Words: 5 854_

* * *

_The dream ended as soon as Harry had made his plea. He awoke slowly the guilt clawing at his chest making him aware that the dream was long gone. Only one person was in the room when he opened his eyes._

"_How are you feeling, sire?" Gaius asked gently from his bedside._

"_I know," he murmured, side stepping the question._

"_Know what?"_

"_That Beren is dead."_

_The Court Physician sighed. "It is a loss that the entire Kingdom will feel. He was a good knight, and a good man."_

"_Yes, he was." It hurt to think about his mentor, yet he couldn't escape. The sequence of their last meeting played over and over in his mind, mixed in with his last memories of Esmond._

"_Harry, I need you to tell me everything you remember about what happened," Gaius said summoning Harry back to the present. "I haven't been able to determine what ails you other then that the cause is magic, which the King was already certain of."_

_Harry stayed mute. _

"_Esmond was no warlock." Gaius stated after a moment of silence._

_Harry looked up into the old man's eyes, pleading for understanding. "Please, Gaius, I beg you, do not ask. We'll tell my father that I don't remember anything. I can get away with that after being knocked out by taking a hit to the head."_

_Gaius met his gaze steadily before he nodded. "Perhaps that would be for the best. But if you are not better within a week…"_

_Harry let out a sigh of relief, knowing that it was the best deal he would get. "I understand. Thank you."_

"_Know that you can trust me Harry, I would not betray your confidence."_

_Harry closed his eyes and turned his face away. "Maybe someday," he murmured, before he succumbed to sleep once more._

_.oOo._

The days that followed were some of the hardest in Harry's life. He was stricken with grief the death of his two friends and guilt plagued his conscience for the same reason.

He tried his damndest not to think about them, but small things would lead to thoughts of them, and the searing pain in his chest would return.

At the same time his magic was acting up. It had been unleashed that day, and now it refused to go back to its dormant state. It crackled under his skin constantly, itching to be used, demanding to be acknowledged, threatening to overflow and destroy him if it didn't get its way.

Harry tried to sleep as much as humanly possible, both to escape his feelings and his magic and so that he could dream.

When the dream finally came Harry could have cried with relief. His plea had been heard. The stories were no more; instead the man was lecturing the workings of magic. He spoke about something called occlumency which was the art of protecting and organising the mind. If Harry could learn it he would be able to take control of his powers.

In the months that followed Harry became a ghost to the people in the castle. He was reclusive, always taking his meals in his chambers, never venturing outside. The only time anyone ever saw him outside his room was when he visited the library.

His family let him be; knowing that he was grieving for his mentor and that the failed attempt at his life by a man he had called a friend had affected him deeply.

Harry used this time which he knew was limited; the world would not let him be forever, to get a grasp on his magic by learning occlumency. It was his only priority as he would be a constant danger to everyone if he didn't.

When spring came around Harry left his solitude.

_.oOo._

"_I'm glad to see you out of your chambers again, Harry. It's all well to take a period to grieve as I did when your mother died, but we must not forget to live."_

"_I know, father,"__Harry said shortly. He had barely spoken to anyone since before winter and although he was trying to change his ways, it was hard and made harder by the nature of the art he had been studding during his lonely hours._

_They were outside; Uther had made a rare venture down to the stables, seeking his youngest son._

"_I assume you will take up your duties again."_

"_I will."_

"_Then you should employ a servant again."_

"_No. I will not." Harry was saddling one of the horses, his back turned to his father._

"_Why?"_

"_I could not do so after what happened."_

"_I see."_

_The ways in which Uther and Harry saw it were very different. Uther assumed that his son was afraid that another attempt at his life would be made if he were to have a man so close again._

_Harry had made this decision not because he was afraid for his own life, but for the life of anyone who would come near him. Being who he was, with his magic added to the equation, made it a risk to be under his service and during the months he had been alone he had grown accustomed to the solitude, to do things for himself, and he saw no reason to change that._

"_Will you allow me to take care of myself then?" he asked beginning to lead his palomino steed out of the stables._

"_I can't see why not," was the King's answer. "If you need assistance you can always call upon any of the castle servants."_

"_Good, then that is settled." The prince sat up, the movement stiffer than usual. "I shall need to get myself back into shape, or else I will be of little use to anyone."_

_Uther grabbed the rains, stopping Harry from riding off. "I am pleased to see you out again, Harry. It was hard for all of us to see you like that, but do not forget to enjoy life in face of duty. I have not seen you laugh for such a long time."_

_Harry gave a bland smile. "I shall try, father. For now you can be at peace, this trip is not duty, but pleasure. Arthur convinced me to go hunting."_

_Just then they could see Arthur coming down from the castle, calling to his servant of the week to hurry up and saddle his horse._

"_Maybe I should steal my brother's servant," Harry said, a true smile beginning to light up his eyes. "I think he has forgotten the meaning of humility in my… absence."_

_Uther chuckled, glad to see his son's spirits lifted. "You have my permission to do so whenever you please."_

_.oOo._

Over the last three years Harry had been dedicated to his duties, in honour of Sir Beren and Esmond. They were in his every action, and he hoped that he had made them proud.

He had become one of the most honoured knights in Camelot, and the people was no longer oblivious to his existence, his name was just as known as his brothers, even if it was still hard for people to tell them apart.

Harry had also mastered his magic. He was no longer a danger and he knew how to use it. Thanks to the man in his dreams he had reached an advanced level in many subjects including, charms, defence and the study of magical plants and creatures. He had yet to reach as high a level in transfiguration and potions although he was working on it.

He had also made progress in his self studies, reading any book he came across which told about the magic of the old religion.

The largest difference Harry could see between the magic he learned about in his dreams and the magic he found in books was how you preformed it.

The dream magic, as he had come to think about it, normally required a conduit, a focus. This was most commonly a wand. A wand was nothing more and nothing less then a long stick of wood imbedded with a core taken from some magical creature.

Harry did not have a wand, as he lacked the ability to create one. Neither could he search for someone who could craft one for him, it would be much too dangerous. And even if he could get his hands on a wand he wouldn't want one as it would limit him, and if it were to be found he would be in grave danger, so he had to work around that.

Some of the spells had been impossible for him to learn as they required intricate wand-movement that he couldn't replicate using his hands. However with most of the dream spells intention, concentration and will was enough to make them happen. Harry preferred silent casting, but if he said the words of incantation the spells would work almost every time.

The enchantments of the old religion required the same concentration and will, but the incantations were far longer, which in Harry's opinion made that sort of magic more difficult to learn.

Through trail and error he had also come to the conclusion that the spells of the old religion were more draining, requiring more magic to use, in exchange though you got more out of them for the energy you put in.

In the end he had learned a lot about magic, but nearly nothing about the man who had been his companion through countless nights ever since his childhood.

It had been as recently as a few weeks earlier that he had learned the man's name and the connection between them.

_.oOo._

_Harry was once again asleep and he became aware as he entered the dream. He felt the familiar soft mattress beneath his body, the sheets against his hands. Light flickered on the other side of his eyelids, making his world appear a in a warm dark red colour. He felt a steady pressure against his mind-shields and pressed back, forcing the intruder to retreat._

"_Relax, Harry," the man said revealing that the intruder had been him. "I mean no harm. It is just that I've found a way to tell when you are aware. So I know that you can hear me," there was a smile in the voice. "It has been a long time going and I imagine that it must be frustrating when the lectures are chopped off." Harry agreed. That was very irritating. "I've found a way to which allows me to know when you are aware, Harry. _

"_And if I am correct I have also found a method which will allow us to communicate. It is a specialized brand of legilimency. It will create a mental space, a room within one of our minds, yours in this case as I would be the one performing the spell. This room would take on the properties of a physical space. My only regret is that it was Snape who came up with the solution. He called me inbred, foolish and stupidly proud Gryffindor for not having asked earlier. I suppose I earned it this time."_

_Harry would have smiled if he could. Severus Snape had been a figure that had played many a role in the stories he had been told through his childhood. It appeared as if the rivalry had not diminished that much through the years._

"_If you will allow me to try this, just lower your occlumency walls."_

_Harry did as asked, seeing no harm in it. He trusted the man as he had never done anything to harm him, and he was eager to see him face to face, even if it would only be inside their minds._

"_Thank you," the man said. "Since we will be meeting in your mind I need you to create a room for us to be in. I suggest that you choose somewhere where you will feel comfortable for our first time. If we do it again you can create something more creative. Concentrate on the room."_

_Harry followed the instructions, thinking about his bedchambers in the castle. Imagining the stonewalls with their rough structure, the heavy, deep-red drapes by the arched windows, the large table with its intricately carved legs, and his four-poster bed with its many pillows and blankets. He felt the heat of the fire against his face, smelled the cleaning powder that had been used to scrub the floor and the peace of home filled his heart._

"_Concentrate now." The man drew in a deep breath. "Conin thalam é legilimens!"_

_Harry felt his mind being penetrated; the probe was soft yet unyielding. He had to suppress the instincts he had honed, which demanded that he should shut his mind down, but he kept the walls open and invited the presence inside._

_Colours swam before his eyes and a moment later he was standing by one of the windows in his chamber. The room looked just like in real life, magic making it so, using the images and memories his mind had provided._

_The room was of little interest to him however; the man who had come there with him was far more intriguing. Standing in the middle of the chamber was a tall, young man, who Harry idly noted was very handsome. He had dark, slightly wavy hair which fell to his shoulders. A grin was on his face making clear, gray eyes sparkle._

_What he took in next was the man's clothing. They were strange, a short tunic covered the man's upper body; it was odd in that it had short sleeves, something Harry had never seen before on a man's garment. _

_The man was also clad in a pair of trousers of strange cutting and material. They were tight fitting, leaving nothing to the imagination, and Harry blushed lightly. The fabric looked course; it was of a medium blue colour which was faded over the thighs. The fabric was also ripped over the knees as if they had been worn until they were about to fall apart._

_Harry did not think the man was poor though, he had several ornate rings on his fingers, and besides the tears in the trousers the clothes appeared to be of good quality._

_While Harry was observing the man, the man did the same with Harry._

"_You look very different," the man said after his appraisal. The voice was the same as the one Harry always heard in his dreams._

"_Do I?" he asked._

"_Yes, although I suppose I should have expected that. In here we look as we perceive ourselves, in some ways disregarding our physical forms. I am currently wearing the face that you would have seen had you met my twenty year old self. This is because it is what I see when I think of myself. The image of a forty year old that I see in the mirror is a poor reflection indeed. Not that I haven't aged well or anything," he added hastily in a defensive tone. "It's just that we tend to take on the form from a time when we were content with life."_

"_So what did you believe me to look like?"_

"_Like the boy whose bedside I've been sitting at for the passed twenty years."_

"_What do you mean?" Harry asked confused. "I've been living, I only ever dream of you."_

"_Magic is strange," was the answer. "Don't ask me to explain it in detail, I have honestly no idea how it works, I can only tell you what is, with your help of course."_

"_Then please do."_

"_Yes, yes of course. I'm still getting used to your new face. And blond? I would never have imagined. You still have the same eye colour though. Or at least I imagine so, it has been many years since I saw your eyes open, still I expect they would be that startling green; the same as Lily's."_

"_Sit down." Harry made to do so himself and the man followed._

"_Where to begin?" the man murmured, stoking his cleanly shaven chin._

"_Perhaps with your name?"_

"_Oh?" the man looked surprised. "Have I actually not said my name?"_

"_No. I've always wondered. You told me many names in your stories, Remus, Peter, James, Lily, Frank, but you were always 'I'."_

"_That is right. I have never told you who I am, well I am Sirius Black."_

"_Then on to my next question; how have you always known my name?"_

"_Of course I know your name! Harry James Potter. I was there when you were born!"_

_Harry stared at the man. "No you weren't, and that is not my name; except for Harry of course."_

"_Right, sorry, you wouldn't know. Okay, how do I say this...? I suppose telling you the prophecy is the best way to start."_

"_A prophecy?" _

_Harry didn't like the sound of that. All he knew about prophecies was bad. It would rule the lives of those it was about, binding them, and taking their will._

"_If you had asked me twenty years ago I would have said that it was a load of hippogriff dung, but as you sit before me now, I can't be so certain."_

"_Alright, tell me."_

"_Right, here it goes; the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. The power the Dark Lord knows not will be gained as he fulfils his first destiny at the side of Emerys. If the vanquisher prevails we will see a renaissance of magic. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..."_

"_That's…"_

"_Yes, I know, it's a load of bullocks, but men smarter then I, namely Albus Dumbledore the esteemed Head Master of Hogwarts and the leader of the Order of the Phoenix as well as Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and what not… Anyway Dumbledore heard the prophecy and could understand it as he had knowledge of the people it spoke about."_

"_It still makes no sense."_

"_I'm coming to it, eh… Maybe I didn't start in the right end after all." _

_He wrung his hands lamely, stalling, and then he looked Harry straight in the eye. "Harry you are the boy in this prophecy; the boy born at the end of July to parents who had thrice defied the Dark Lord._

"_About thirty years ago, a dark wizard rose. He called himself Voldemort and he gathered followers who believed in his cause, that only wizards who are born by magical parents are worthy. He hated everyone without magic, normal people who we in the wizarding world call muggles. He gathered people by saying that they would take over the world, and bring everyone to their rightful place; pureblood wizards at the top and muggles at the bottom._

"_Of course there were people who opposed him. Your parents, James and Lily Potter were two of them."_

"_But," Harry cut in, and Sirius hurried to interrupt him._

"_I know, I'm coming to that, just try and be patient. Merlin knows I have had to be, waiting twenty years to speak with you," the last was muttered and Harry raised an eyebrow. _

"_Sorry. Where was I? Right, your parents and I and many of our friends joined the Order of the Phoenix, a group of people, led by Albus Dumbledore who fought against Voldemort and his followers, the Death Eaters. _

"_The prophecy was made in front of Dumbledore, but one of Voldemort's spies heard part of it._

"_Lily and James faced Voldemort three times and lived to tell the tale, a feat not many could claim. Then came your birth at the end of July. One other boy could have been the child of the prophecy, but Voldemort went after you, fulfilling the next part where the Dark Lord would have to mark the child as his equal. _

"_We had spells which should have kept you safe, but we were betrayed. Peter who had been our friend for so many years went to the enemy out of cowardice and told him where he could find you._

"_The 31st of October Voldemort came to the house where you lived. He killed James and Lily and he tried to kill you. Something went wrong and Voldemort disappeared._

"_I came upon the scene only moments later, finding all three of you dead."_

"_I died?" Harry gasped out._

"_Yes, you were dead and I was struck with grief," Sirius continued. "Then along came Dumbledore telling me not to lose hope as your spirit still remained on the plane of the living. Though we didn't know what happened then, Dumbledore has many theories. He believes that something or someone reached out for you, bringing you to the body you have been living in for all these years. With your spirit departed, your body came back to life._

"_I have been guarding over you ever since. Dumbledore would have liked to place someone else to do it, but it had to be me. Your parents made me your godfather and as such it is my duty to take care of you." Sirius paused. "We also know when you are."_

"_When?" Harry questioned._

"_Yes, if the prophecy is to be believed you are special Harry; a man with two destinies where others only have one, and most of us are rather insignificant. One of your destinies lies here with us and the other is where you are now, at the side of a man known as Emerys. Emerys is well known among us as the greatest wizard to ever live, and he lived over a thousand years ago, meaning that so are you."_

_Sirius fell silent and Harry stared at him mutely for a while, just trying to take it all in._

"_What you are saying is that I have two bodies, and these bodies are separated by a thousand years?"_

"_Yes." The man sighed and pushed his hair behind his ears. "As I'm sure you understand this situation is most peculiar. Though I would like nothing more than to tell you everything I hesitate to do so, it might create a paradox, and on the other hand, inaction on my part might do the same. So I will try to inform you of what I believe you need to know, and avoid subjects regarding the time in which you live. Not that we know so much in any case. It has been so many years that only the major events have survived to make it to present time."_

"_Alright," Harry murmured. He didn't know what to make of it. He understood that knowing the future might be dangerous. If he did something wrong the whole timeline which had lead to Harry James Potter being born might be erased, and then there wouldn't be a Harry Pendragon either. If time even worked like that, maybe it was all predetermined and the choices they made were only illusions, but then what would be the purpose of it all if everything was made up there was no point to live through it. His head was really beginning to hurt._

"_Still I would love to know about your life, there could be no harm in that. It might also help me determine how long time we have before you will come here to fulfil the prophecy. It says that you have a destiny where you are at the side of Emerys. Have you met anyone named Emerys?"_

_The new subject was welcome as Harry felt like he would go into depression if he kept pondering the questions of human existence._

"_No. I have never heard or read that name."_

"_A shame. What about Merlin? That is the name he is more known under."_

_Harry thought before he answered. "No. I have never heard of a Merlin either."_

_Sirius sighed, then grinned shrugging it off. "I suppose I will have to wait some more then."_

"_Yes." Harry fingered a lose thread at the edge of his sleeve feeling slightly awkward. This man who he had spent as much time with as any in his family, was still a stranger to him and that was a foreign concept._

"_Would you mind telling me where we are for starters? If you don't mind that is. I think you will need to process what I have already told you, so I will say no more today. I also think it's only fair if you get to return the favour. Come on, kid, blow my mind!" Sirius said with a grin._

_Harry looked up and had to smile. The man made a point and he wouldn't mind sharing things about his home, and his family, even if the thought of telling a wizard about his father wasn't a cheerful one. "We are in my chambers," he begun._

_Sirius let out a low whistle looking around. "Well you are not poor then, good to know. If you ever came to live here I suppose you might make a better lord than me."_

"_You are a lord?" Harry asked, surprised by this. He would not have guessed from the man's casual mannerisms and strange clothing, still he was educated and there were the rings on his finger._

"_Yes, though not by choice let me tell you. I never liked my family, dark wizards the lot of them." He rose from his chair and held out his arms in a pompous manner and said in mock grandeur; "I present to you the Lord of the most Noble and Ancient house of Black!" He took a deep bow and sat back down. "They should be around in your time as well. If you ever meet one give them a good beating from me."_

_Harry didn't respond to that. "And why would you being a lord have anything to do with me?" he asked instead._

"_Your father was one as well. Lord Potter."_

"_So you think that I am nobility in this life as well?"_

"_Certainly, a room like this could only be in a castle."_

"_I concede that it is true. We are inside the citadel in the heart of Camelot."_

"_Camelot," Sirius said the name with awe. "Camelot is but a fairytale to us. We have tales about the great and noble King Arthur and the knights of the round table and the wizard Merlin who was his advisor for many years."_

_Harry laughed out loud, unable to contain himself, tipping his head back and holding his sides._

_Sirius stared at him as if he had gone mad. "What?" he asked indignantly. "Did I say something wrong? In that case you shouldn't be laughing at me. Your pronunciations are horrendous; I should be the one laughing at you."_

"_No, no it's just your description of Arthur as a great and noble king which had me laughing." Harry wheezed out a last chuckle then turned to glare at his table companion. "And I resent that you are picking on my pronunciation. You speak a different language then I do, this being the first time I have someone to speak it with. I always wondered what dialect you were speaking, now it makes sense I suppose. It's the same langue, or how it will sound in a thousand years anyway."_

"_Right, sorry. In that case you are doing very well. So, why are you laughing about me simply mentioning King Arthur?"_

"_That's because he is neither noble or great… or king."_

"_Arthur isn't King of Camlet?" Sirius asked perplexed. "How could history have gotten it so wrong? No King Arthur, no Merlin, and I suppose there are no knights of the round table either?"_

"_Nope, although I suppose I might be too early."_

"_Huh?"_

"_You said we are dealing with time. I live in a time before Arthur becomes king. He is the crown Prince."_

"_Oh, that explains the no Merlin thing and lack of round table as well then. So you say that Arthur isn't great or noble?"_

"_Well, he can be at times, I suppose, when he can remember to tone down his arrogance." Harry smiled as he thought of Arthur. "He can be a jackass, and he abuses his power at times, though only in small matters. However underneath all that he has a heart of gold. And he is one of the finest knights Camelot has ever seen, valorous, honourable, a terrific swords man. I am sure that he will make a fine king one day."_

"_You speak as if you know him personally."_

"_I should certainly hope so. He is my brother."_

_The look on Sirius' face had set Harry off, laughing again. _

_.oOo._

That had been the first in a line of many conversations between Harry and Sirius. They could not always converse in that manner though. It was very draining for Sirius to keep up the connection and only seldom did they speak face to face, still it was a great help, for Harry was now able to ask questions in between the normal teaching sessions.

During the weeks that had followed Harry had learned more about Voldemort, and he now understood the dreams of green light.

He had been told more about his second father and mother and of the people who lived in that time. Sirius in turn had heard many stories of the life in Camelot which intrigued him to no end. He had told Harry that he was a far better history teacher then the ghost who had taught them at Hogwarts.

Though the knowledge of his destinies hung heavy on his shoulders, Harry would not have changed anything, for he had gained something that could make up for any duties and toil.

Harry had loved and lost, and although losing hurt he was strongly for the proverb that it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.

He had closed off his heart after the deaths of Sir Beren and Esmond. He found that he didn't mind opening it to let in his godfather, Sirius Black.

_.oOo._

A woman was sitting at a table, writing by the light of a steadily burning candle. Her blue eyes were concentrated on the page as she dipped the quill in the pot of ink to write the last lines.

"…_If he stays here I fear what will become of him. He needs a hand to hold, a voice to guide, someone who might help him find a purpose for his gifts. I beg you, if you understand a mother's love for her son, keep him safe and may god save you both. Hunith."_

Hunith blew on the letter to make the ink dry faster before she neatly folded the parchment. She sat in silence by the table, staring into the light of the candle and listened to the steady breathing of her son who was sleeping in the room next door.

It was not an easy decision to make. Merlin, her beloved boy was special, and he was beginning to unsettle the people in the small village they lived in.

His magic was stronger than anything she had ever heard of and she knew that she could not give him what he needed to continue to grow. She had decided to put her trust in Gaius who she had once been close enough to, to consider as a brother.

Gaius had been a practitioner of magic before it was banned from Camelot, so he should be able to understand Merlin, should be able to help him. Even though Gaius had given up his magic to remain as Court Physician to the king, he would not have forgotten the old ways. He was a good man and Hunith was certain that he would be able to guide her son onto a path of righteousness.

She got up from the table, blew out the candle and walked to Merlin's room. She watched his sleeping form which was illuminated by the dim light of the stars and the moon which filtered in through the window.

She brushed her hand through his dark hair without rousing him, and pressed a soft kiss to his brow. The hard part would be to tell him about her decision.

_.oOo._

"Merlin!"

A young man turned to the voice. He was lanky, had dark hair, a narrow face and slightly outstanding ears. He smiled and hurried to the woman who had called for him.

"What do you wish of me, mother?" he asked with a smile which she did not reciprocate. "What is it?" he asked, becoming wary.

"I worry about you," she said ushering him inside. "I heard about the argument you had yesterday with the miller's son."

"That? That was nothing!" Merlin said with forced cheer.

She gave him a piercing stare. "Do not try that with me, young man! I am your mother and I will not fall for it."

"Fine! I made all the bags of flour float out to the carriage sparing him at least an hour of work." She gave him a stern look. "He didn't see me do it!" Merlin hastily defended. "I thought I was just helping out, but he apparently felt as if I had done his job and he felt honoured to give me the payment he should have received, leaving him with no work and no money."

"Oh, Merlin." She sighed. "You mean well, yet it ends up wrong. I feel that you can not stay here."

"What?"

"Your powers… the people here will never understand." She handed him a letter. "I believe you should go to Camelot. You will not find your future here in Ealdor, but you may find your destiny there. This letter is for Gaius. I've already sent one to him so he knows you'll be coming. I am sure that he will help you find your place."

"Mother I…"

"You will listen to me in this, Merlin. Yours is a great destiny and you must seek it, for if it finds you here trouble will follow. I love you, my son, but it is time that I let you go." She caressed his cheek softly. "You will leave in the morning. You are to arrive Wednesday. I have already packed for you; clothes, and food for the journey. It is a good time of year to travel. The roads are dry and the weather is not yet too hot."

"Mother, you are rambling."

"Yes, I am. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You are just trying to do what you think is best. I will go if that is what you believe I should."

"I will miss you, Merlin. More than you could ever know. You are the light of my life."

"I will miss you too, Mother, so very much."

* * *

**End Chapter 3**

* * *

**AN 31st December 2012:**

Wow. That was fast. My muse has been very kind to me.  
I hope you liked the chapter. Do not expect one so soon again though.  
A special thanks to **ihategoodbyes**, I really appreciate that you take the time to help me correct mistakes I make in the story.  
In the next chapter we will begin to explore the plot from the TV-series. I hope you'll join me then!

**AN 21st Mars 2013: **

I've edited this chapter, fixing what small mistakes I could see while reading to get back into the story. I might have changed a few minor things. The only thing that might have to do with the plot was that I made it clear that the miller's son with whom Merlin helped out has no idea about Merlin's magic.


	4. Chapter 4

**Two Destinies**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

_Words: 3 819_

* * *

"Merlin!"

It was just after dawn and Merlin was just about to exit Ealdor when he heard the voice. It was Will, his best friend and the only one part from his mother who knew about his magic.

Merlin stopped. "Will," he said, waiting for his friend to catch up.

"Were you planning to run off without saying good bye?"

"I said good bye yesterday."

"Right you did, you rushed into my home and blurted out that you were going to Camelot. I was half asleep and by the time I realised what you had told me you were gone." Will was silent for a moment. "Merlin, why are you leaving?"

"I have to."

"No, you don't! You can stay here and we can go on like we've always have."

Merlin smiled sadly. "I can't, mother… she found out that you knew about my magic." He paused, trying to convey with his eyes what he was thinking. "She is worried about me. Things are always going wrong and sooner or later it will pass the point where the mistake can't be fixed."

"That's not true. No one in Ealdor would ever betray you. We are your friends, your family. I would never tell anyone your secret."

"I know."

"Don't leave?"

"I'll miss you too, Will."

_.oOo._

Uther was seated in his study, looking through a pile of paperwork. It was far from the noblest task he had to perform as king, but it was vital. Most papers were left for his advisors, leaving only the most important to him.

"Father."

Uther looked up and saw one of his sons standing there. He peered at the young man's eyes, seeing that the colour was green. Observing their eye colour was the only way to tell the two Princes from each other with a single glance.

"Harry," he acknowledged turning again to the document at the top of the inch high pile.

"I wanted to speak with you about Tomas Collins."

Uther frowned. "What about him?"

"Are we really sure about his guilt?"

"Sir Winfred assured me that he had indeed committed the crime of aspiring to use magic. Should I not trust the word of one of my knights?"

"Father," Harry sighed, walking closer so that he stood right next to the desk. "Winfred may have been a knight once, but you know as well as I do that the only battles he participates in these days are brawls at the tavern, which he looses more often than not. He is a drunkard and a gossip who has forgotten his oath and what it means to be a knight of Camelot."

Uther nodded slowly, he did not approve of the way his son was speaking about a fellow knight, yet he had to concede that there was some truth to the words. "Winfred might have deteriorated as the years have passed, but he is still a knight. He has served me and Camelot well for many years and I will not have you slander him."

"Father…"

Uther held up a hand, silencing his son. "His word holds weight. I cannot ignore the accusations, which I've found to be true. Tomas Collins is guilty of his crime."

"What crime? I heard Winfred's story. He only overheard a conversation in a tavern, which should speak for itself. This is not proof. How can you tell if someone can do or has done any form of sorcery from just a conversation overheard by a man who'd at the time consumed several bottles of mead?"

"So you would say that if a conspiracy to overthrow my rule was heard, it wouldn't be evidence of treachery?"

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Words can weight just as heavy as actions. Conspiring to use sorcery is as bad as the practicing of it."

"How can it be? How can words weigh as heavy as actions?"

"Harry." Uther was beginning to feel exasperated.

"From what I've gathered Collins is but a carpenter who also posses some talents in healing. Creating tonics and salves by mixing herbs is no different from what Gaius does."

The King got up from his seat and walked over to the window, looking out at the city. "What would you have me do?"

"Don't put to much faith in a drunken man, whatever his station in society might be, do this by giving the accused man a chance to explain himself. Then listen to what he has to say without any preconception. Allow me to investigate. If the man has done any ill, using magic or other means, I will as always agree with any punishment you wish, but if he is innocent… I believe that you judge too soon. You do not see clearly once the word sorcery is mentioned."

Uther turned to his son, his face grim. "And you are too soft hearted. Magic users are abominations." Harry flinched almost unnoticeably at the words. "They cannot be controlled and if I don't show the world that we will not tolerate sorcery in Camelot they will see it as an invitation. We've been over this before and I know your opinion as you know mine. I know you wish to see the good in people so it is with regret that I tell you that a full investigation has already been executed and irrefutable evidence was found. Tomas Collins is indeed guilty of conspiring to use enchantments. Does this satisfy you?"

Uther sat down at his desk again, so he missed the steel glint in his son's eyes which clearly said _no, _as Harry would not be satisfied until only sorcery used with the intention to harm would be punished.

"I suppose it will have to," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Though if I may ask; who led the investigation?"

"Your brother."

"Arthur? Oh…" Harry faltered, he had expected that one of the knights who were in the same opinion as his father would have lead the investigation, allowing him to continue by saying that a neutral party should be allowed to investigate, but as it was Arthur who had found the evidence, the man must indeed be guilty of the_ perceived crime_. "Very well then."

"Was there anything else?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. I also wanted to inform you that I will be gone for a few days. There have been rapports of increased activity near the border to Essetir. We need to scout the region to see what is going on. It might be nothing, but it's not to be taken lightly. We leave at first light on the morrow." The Prince turned without waiting for a reply.

"Harry!" Uther called, irritated at the casual dismissal, and strangely used to it, his second son never cared much for protocol, only using it when it was to his advantage. He was more for getting the job done and then hurrying off to hide away in the shadows. Harry had still refused to compete in the annual tournament of Camelot and he avoided banquets as others stayed away from the plague.

Uther was glad that Arthur thrived in the limelight, it would have been hard on the boys had their roles been reversed. Arthur would have resented his brother had it been Harry who was to take the crown. He would never have been satisfied with being brushed to the side and Harry would have been suffocated under the burden.

They would undoubtedly have preformed their duties without fault even then, still it was kind of fate to give the brothers the roles best suited for them.

"Do you truly have to leave now? The celebrations are about to begin."

"That's just it. You know that I do not care for festivities."

"It's your duty to attend. It's not for your sake, but for the people's. They need to see the royal family strong and united."

"We've been over this so many times."

"Yes, and still we disagree. Letting the people see both their princes at the festivities will not harm you. You could try to enjoy yourself!"

"I don't seed the reason to celebrate the capture of a regal being."

"That dragon is not regal!" The King's voice had gone harsh, his face showing off the hate he felt for anything magical. "It's a monster! It killed hundreds of people before we managed to subdue it!"

"Be that as it may, but neither do I think an execution is a cause for cheer," Harry said calmly.

"Maybe not, but you shall have to agree that the man is guilty of his crime. After all I have taken your words to heart. He has not been judged without cause."

"Yes, and I commend you for that, still no matter if we were to execute a man who had slain hundreds of innocents; I would not cheer. I will cheer at no one's death."

"We are not celebrating death, we celebrate that we found peace, that magic no longer could harm our people."

"Then why would you start the celebration by committing murder? Wouldn't it be more reasonable to show leniency and mercy? Wouldn't that to show the people that we are thankful for the years of peace?"

The King scoffed. "The peace has been kept by executing men like him. I will not show him any mercy."

Harry shook his head, knowing when to forfeit. "There is no reason to prolong this argument. I'll return in a few days time. Then the execution will be over and done with and I'll arrive in time for Lady Helen's performance. Everybody will be happy."

Uther pondered the suggestion for a moment and saw the benefit of it, as he had been forced to do when it came to his second son many times before. "Fine. You have my permission to do this. But I implore you, do not take any unnecessary risks and do not cross the border for anything. The last thing we need is for Cenred to question the peace accord. "

"As you command." Harry bowed and took his leave.

_.oOo._

"What's got you down?" Arthur went into his brother's chambers without knocking, finding Harry sitting by the table, picking at a plate of food.

"Tomas Collins."

"Ah, I see."

"I still have a hard time understanding what wrong the man has done. I read though your report."

Arthur sat down and pulled over Harry's plate starting to eat from it. "No need to waste good food," he said when Harry raised an eyebrow. "And you always get better food then I do. I wonder why that is."

"Maybe it's because your servants spit in your food and take care to choose the charred and failed platters?"

"They do not!" He scrunched up his face in thought. "Do they?"

"It wouldn't surprise me if they do. After all, I'd do it if I was your servant. Does it bring you physical harm to say thank you?"

"What? You'd spit in my food? And I say thank you... occasionally."

"Yes, you do, but never to your servants. How long is the record that you've kept the same one? Two months?"

"Three."

Harry gave him a look.

"It was three!"

Harry kept his gaze locked with Arthur's.

"Fine!" Arthur said exasperated, bringing his hands up in a sign of surrender, waving a chicken leg around in the process. "Yes, it was the same guy getting the job again. I didn't remember that I'd already employed him once!"

"If you were just a bit nicer to them and didn't give them stupid chores which you could just as well handle yourself I'm sure they wouldn't run away."

"They don't run away!" Arthur said indignantly. "I send them away just as often…"

"How does that make things any better?"

"You… you!"

"Yes?" Harry said smugly as his brother stammered.

"My point is that they are paid to do things for me!"

"As you say. I bet that the one you have at the moment won't last the week out."

"Really?"

"Really. Shall we say fifteen gold pieces?"

"Make it twenty."

"Okay, it's your loss."

"Why are you so sure?" Arthur asked taking a bite out of the chicken leg.

"Because, dear brother, you lose either way. Either you loose your gold or you have to play nice for a week."

Arthur's face fell. "Didn't think of that."

"Clearly not." Harry smirked. "Sadly I will not be around to watch you in your agony. I'm leaving tomorrow. I'm taking a few knights and a couple of scouts; we're going to have a look at the area near the boarder to Cenred's kingdom. You know about the reports we've gotten from there. Something isn't right."

"You're leaving _now_?"

Harry sighed. "You sound like father."

"Maybe he has the right idea. And you can't leave me to endure the festivities alone!"

"You won't be alone. Morgana is still here. And father."

"That's no help!"

"Ah, come off it Arthur! You know you'll enjoy yourself and if there's some part you don't like you always find a way to sneak off. Besides I'll be back soon enough, father would have my head if I missed Lady Helen's performance."

"You'd better be back by then, or I'll have to escort Morgana." The disgust Arthur felt at the prospect was clear on his face and in his tone.

"You poor thing," Harry cooed mockingly. "We couldn't have that. How would you ever survive in the company of a beautiful lady?"

"Beautiful?" Arthur leered suggestively.

Harry spluttered. "That's not what I meant and you know it!"

"Well, better you than me."

"I don't get why you two can't get along."

"You know, she's just so… so… infuriating!"

"Oh, that makes sense. You just can't handle that she was able to beat you in a sword fight a few years ago. You are much too proud."

"That never happened!" Arthur said indignantly.

"Right." Harry's tone clearly stated that he wasn't buying it.

"She defeated you too!"

"Yes, and I applauded her for it, which is why we are much closer than the two of you… and… hold on… so you admit that it happened?"

"No," Arthur mumbled grumpily.

"That's your problem; you can never admit that anyone is better than you."

"I do too. You are better than me at things."

"Still I am the only exception, aren't I? Me and father."

"_Anyway,"_ Arthur said, making it clear that they were changing topic, "you better be back when it's time for Lady Helen's performance."

"Don't worry I will be."

Harry eyed the plate which had held his dinner, it was nearly empty. "Did you plan to eat all my food?"

"You weren't eating! You were too busy moping. You can have the dinner which is undoubtedly _not_ waiting in my chambers."

"I'll pass." Harry wrinkled his nose at the image of the cold goo which was probably going to be presented as his brother's dinner, venturing down to the kitchen seemed more favorable once he got his appetite back. "And now you have me thinking about Tomas Collins again, way to go."

"Sorry," Arthur muttered a bit sheepishly.

"That reminds me; you never specified in your report what he had used magic for."

"Don't you think you should let this go?" Arthur was squirming a bit, making sure that Harry would not let it go, as he showed that there was something to prod at.

"I'm not going to like this am I?" Harry asked darkly.

"The sentence will be carried out by noon tomorrow; nothing you can do will change it. Let it go, Harry. The man was going to use magic, by the laws of our father that is to be punished by death."

"He didn't do anything bad, did he?" Harry pressed.

Arthur sighed in defeat, knowing that he would end up telling the younger man eventually, might as well be sooner rather than later. "No. In fact he has not used magic at all."

Harry gasped. "But you said..!"

"I know what I said. He hasn't used magic, _yet._ But he was planning to, and he confessed to it as well."

"That doesn't have to mean anything! A confession can be made even if you are innocent! He could be protecting someone or…"

"Stop it!" Arthur interrupted him. "You're bordering on treason when you speak like that. I will not see you dead over this! As long as father is king we have to obey the laws he has made."

"What was Tomas going to use magic for?"

"Harry…"

"Tell me!"

Arthur shook his head sadly and got up from the table; he walked to the door and stepped out in the corridor. Before he closed the door he turned to Harry. "Tomas made a promise that he would use magic to heal a dying woman."

.oOo.

Tomas Collins huddled in a corner of the prison cell he was in. Moisture dripped down the stone walls and the pile of straw which was to be his bed did little to isolate from the cold that radiated from the ground. It was almost pitch-black, because some time ago the torch in the corridor outside his cell had gone out and with it the faint, red glow which had illuminated the dungeon had disappeared.

By midday the following day he would be dead. All for something he hadn't even done. He'd simply made a promise to help a desperate man find a cure to heal his dying wife. It was the words he had chosen and the patron at the table next to theirs which had been his doom.  
"_I'll do anything in my power to help you_," he had said earnestly, clasping the man's hand. Unluckily for him, one of the patrons who had been seated at the table next to theirs was a noble; a knight no less.

The man had gone straight to the King to report his suspicions and that was all it took for Tomas to be arrested.

However foolish it might have been Tomas had admitted to that he had promised to do anything to help, the man had been desperate and he felt that he should help in anyway he could, even if that meant that he would have to use magic, if it had been him in that position he would have wanted someone to help him.

He didn't know much about magic in any case, he had been young when it was forbidden and he hadn't used it since and he would have been happy to pretend until his dying day that he didn't posses the _cursed_ gift.  
Not that it mattered any more. What was done was done. Tomas wouldn't be leaving much behind when he left this world, only his poor old mother. He felt deep regret over that.

Before his father died he had made Tomas promise that he would take care of his mother. And he had promised his old man that he would make sure she could live out her days without wanting for food or a roof over her head. He had promised that she wouldn't have to die alone.  
But he had failed, simply because the King of Camelot was paranoid and hateful to the very reminder that sorcery existed.  
Tomas had pleaded his innocence to deaf ears, insisting that he was only trying to help, that he only wanted to heal, that he would never do anything that could harm Camelot.

It had all been useless, once he said that he was going to use magic his sentence was clear, and even if it hadn't been true and had only been his word against the knight's he would have been done for. The King would never take the word of a commoner; a simple carpenter over the word of one of his trusted knights.

The Prince who had interrogated him had been sympathetic, but he was as bound by his father as the rest of the citizens in the Kingdom. It didn't matter if you only used magic for good, or if you didn't use it at all. If you possessed the gift then you were guilty and only deserved death. All things considered Tomas was surprised that the man begging him to save his wife had gone free. In Camelot it was just as bad to consort with sorcerers as being one.

He supposed there just wasn't enough evidence. The knight hadn't seen who the other man was, and Tomas was not about to freely give that information.  
Tomas closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep. Sleeping on a pile of hay in a cold dungeon was not how he would have liked to spend the last hours of his life, but finding escape in sleep would be better than having to suffer through the insistent cold and his circling thoughts.  
Just as he was about to drift off he was alerted by the sound of someone's approach. He sat up and peered into the darkness.  
A cloaked figure came from behind the corner of the corridor. Tomas couldn't tell who it was only that it was a man, as his tall muscular frame could not be hidden by the cloak. Besides that Tomas could tell that this wasn't a guard and that had him on edge, who else had access to the prison cells?  
"Who are you?" Tomas asked a slight tremor in his voice.  
"Someone who believes in justice," came the answer. The man's voice was even and clear. This was a man used to giving orders and seeing them carried out. Tomas felt as though it was familiar. He could have sworn that he had heard it not long ago, but he couldn't place it.  
"Why have you come here?"  
"Because I don't believe that your _crime_ equals the punishment you are to be given." The man spat the word crime, as if it was the vilest thing he had ever taken in his mouth.

"You believe me to be innocent?"

"No. I believe that you are a good man who was prepared for this outcome, but willing to risk it to help a fellow human being."

"What difference does it make? The King has given his judgment and will not be swayed. I am to face the executioner. Not even the Prince could stop that."

The man flinched. "What do you mean?" He sounded younger now, not so sure of himself.

"Prince Arthur interrogated me. I could tell that he didn't think it was right that I would be sentenced to death. He said he was sorry."

"Arthur," the man whispered the name, Tomas wasn't sure he was meant to hear it. "You are right. Even a prince of Camelot couldn't evoke the judgement. But I can free you. I _will_ free you, as long as you are prepared to help me."

* * *

**End Chapter 4**

* * *

**AN 22nd Mars 2013:**

I begun to think the day when I finished this chapter would come. But here it is! It's a bit shorter than I had planned, but I was working on the story today and decided that the material I had on chapter 4 which was more or less finished was long enough to be posted as a chapter.

I have edited chapter 1-3, no large changes, just fixing a few minor mistakes. I only changed one thing plot wise and that was to make clear that no one in Ealdor apart from Hunith and Will knows about Merlin having magic.

I thank you for your patience and hope you enjoyed it. I also hope that next chapter will be up sooner than this one was. If you want to know how my progress is faring I try to put small notices on my bio page every now and then.


	5. Chapter 5

**Two Destinies**

* * *

**Chapter 5**

_Words: __3 757_

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It was before the break of dawn, the air was chilly, the sky dark and littered with stars. Most of the city was asleep, waiting for the day to arrive. Only a select few were out of their beds.

The cooks in the castle kitchens had already been up for hours, starting their day by baking bread and making the first preparations of the food that would be consumed by the castle's vast population throughout the day. Their burden grew as more extravagant food had been ordered by the King for the extent of the festival which would commence this day.

The night guards patrolling the streets and battlements were beginning to tire, sleep clouding their minds slightly as they strived to be as alert as they'd been at the start of their shift. They were looking forward to being relieved and seeking sleep.

And this particular morning the Royal Stables were busy with activity as six men, with the assistance of three stable boys, made ready to ride out.

The second prince of Camelot watched over his men as they saddled their horses, filled their saddlebags with the needed supplies and talked over the details of their mission in low voices.

"I want us to have left the city as the sun rises, if we keep a steady pace we should be able to make camp for the night only hours away from the border to Essetir," Harry said and saw contently how the knights and scouts picked up their pace, working sufficiently and with practiced ease, making him proud to lead them.

A pale glow had begun to light up the sky near the horizon. It was early yet, still they had much of land to cover before nightfall, and the sooner they were ready to depart the better.

He double checked his own gear, making sure that his sword was sharp and that his two wineskins were filled with water.

"Harry!"

Harry turned to the voice and was surprised to see his brother standing by the stable entrance.

"Arthur! What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be asleep?" he asked, joining his brother outside.

The two Princes stood face to face, one dressed casually in a red tunic and dark pants, the other covered with leather armour, sword strapped to his side.

"What? Am I now allowed to be up early?"

"Sure you are. It's just that you always sleep late when you don't have to get up, and I know that father have given you time off guard duty for the duration of the festivals. He wants you to make an appearance at them and how can you do that if you are busy patrolling?"

"Yeah well, I had to make sure that everything is going according to plan, I can't have the mission failing."

These were the words Arthur said, but the reason he was there in the stables at this early hour to make sure that Harry was holding up alright. The truth was that he was worried about his baby brother after the issue with Tomas Collins. Matter such as the one with the sorcerer always got to the younger prince, and Arthur knew that Harry would not let it go. He would likely be brooding over it for days, finding some way to place the blame on himself for the man's impending death.

Harry scoffed. "I don't believe that for a second. You didn't even know I was planning to investigate the reports from the border until I told you last night."

"You're right; I'm not here because of the mission. How are you holding up, Harry? Are you okay with how things turned out with Collins?"

"I'm fine!" Harry hissed.

"Are you really?"

"Yes!"

"So you haven't tossed and turned in bed all night, only getting a few hours of uneasy sleep? You aren't going to berate yourself over something you had no power to change? And you haven't been to see him?"

"I…" Harry was going to protest, but at his brother's knowing glance he deflated. That was a look he himself often used when he believed his twin brother had done something wrong or irrefutably stupid.

He was not comfortable with being on the receiving end. "How did you know?" Harry asked hanging his head.

"I'm your older brother I know everything."

Harry snapped his head back up and scowled.

"I know you, brother," Arthur continued in a milder tone. "The course of action you would choose was written all over your face, whether you had consciously chosen it yet or not."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, looking uncomfortable, if he hadn't been better trained to hide his emotions he would have been squirming; he should have known Arthur would see right through him.

"You haven't done something stupid have you?"

"No," Harry winced.

"I presume Collins' still in is cell?" the older of the brothers pressed.

"Yes, he is still in the dungeons. And yes I went to see him."

"What did that accomplish?"

"Not as much as I would have liked. Maybe I gave him some comfort, letting him know that we are on his side even though we're not allowed to act. He mentioned you, said that you sympathised with him."

Now it was Arthur's turn to look uncomfortable, he blushed lightly, though it was hardly visible in the flickering light from the torches. "Well, after listening to all of your rants about equality and your arguments with father something was bound to sink in," he muttered.

"Praise the Gods! I didn't think it was possible with that thick head of yours."

"Hey! I resent that, just because I don't read as much as you, it doesn't mean I'm any less intelligent. However I need to know that you are okay with this. I know you don't like it, but letting it go is for the best. It is regretful that he will die; nevertheless it's not worth risking your own life over. Will you please try to not think too much about it? You need a clear head and to keep your focus on the mission."

"I know," Harry nodded, "and I'll do my best not to dwell on it."

"Good."

"Will you do me a favour?" Harry asked after a moment of silence.

"Yes." Arthur answered a bit hastily then he backtracked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "Hold on. May I ask what before I agree?"

Harry grinned. "It's nothing bad. Just… just don't watch the execution, okay?"

"Alright. Any specific reason as to why you don't want me to watch?"

"See it as a silent protest, father may or may not get it, but more importantly Tomas will see that we are not there and know why."

"As you wish then."

"My Lord?" One of the scouts named Leofric called upon Harry's attention. "We are ready to ride out."

"Good," he nodded to the man. "I'll see you upon my return," he said to his brother.

"Be careful, alright? And if there is any chance of running into more trouble than you can handle, do not hesitate to send for backup. I'll make sure some knights are ready to ride out and join you at a moments notice."

Harry shook his head, fondly. Arthur had been overprotective of him ever since the death of Beren and the supposed murder attempt by Esmond. "Arthur, who is the most skilled knight in Camelot beside yourself?"

"You," the older prince answered grudgingly.

"And what does that tell you?"

"That you can take care of yourself and that you know not to take unnecessary risks. It's just that I don't trust you not to ignore your common sense. Promise me that you will be careful."

"I promise."

"Sire?" One of the stable boys had led out Harry's steed.

"Thank you." Harry sat up, the three knights and the two scouts who would accompany him doing the same.

The sun rose, painting the sky red as the company of six rode out of Camelot.

_.oOo._

It took Merlin nearly two days to walk to Camelot. The journey through the land went well. Just as his mother had claimed the weather was favourable for travel, the ground being dry and the temperature pleasant.

The landscape his path had led him through was beautiful and staggering. The Village of Ealdor was situated in an area of lowland, and the mountains looming in the distance along Merlin's path were larger and more majestic than anything he had previously seen. Snow-capped and eternal they loomed over the rolling green hills and sparkling blue lakes; a barrier against the greater world.

He'd been having mixed feelings every step of the way. On one hand he would dearly miss his mother and his best friend, as well as the only home he'd ever known. On the other hand he was brimming with excitement. For the first time he was standing on his own, preparing to take on the world.

As he had never been far from his home village during his nineteen years of life it was an adventure to travel to the big city. He'd heard so much about Camelot. It was arguably the greatest Kingdom in Albion. Some would say that King Uther was a tyrant and to the people with magic he was, but you couldn't argue against the fact that he had succeeded with bringing Camelot into an era of wealth and prosperity.

When the sun had risen a hand's breadth above the horizon, colouring the sky gold and pale blue, Merlin walked up a last hill and laid eyes on his new home for the first time. He was beyond amazed by the sight. The city was magnificent. A great castle of light stone stood atop a hill, surrounded by houses. It was all enclosed by a great wall of the same stone as the rest of the city seemed to be made of. Pennants were flying in the wind from the highest towers, red against the blue sky.

He walked up to the gates, each step taken making the walls tower higher over him. He was filled with awe. Merlin had never seen anything like it, it was so much more than a boy from a small village like him could ever have imagined. It was something different from the mountains he had seen, for this structure was made by man, something that almost seemed to incredible to be true. How humans had been able to construct the stone buildings was beyond him; that was unless magic had gone into the construct which when you thought about it was highly probable. The city had been built long before King Uther banned the practice of sorcery.

He entered and was immediately met by a bustling crowd. Already after spending just a few minutes in Camelot he felt certain that he had seen more people than he had ever seen before in his life combined.

Merlin walked through the lower parts of the city with a steady gait, taking in all the busy people. He passed merchants crying out the price of their wares, knights walking down the streets, their long red capes billowing out behind them and their armour shining in the sunlight.

Children were running between the market stalls, while servants from the castle were trying to finish their errands as soon as possible, greeting friends along the way and one noble or another strolled leisurely on their way to some meeting.

As he passed through the marketplace Merlin made a promise to himself, that he would return here once he'd gotten settled. He could hardly wait to explore the marketplace, things he'd never seen before were laid out for the costumers' perusal and even though he may not be able to buy anything Merlin would be content to just look at it all.

New smells and sounds assaulted him; spices and manure mixing in his nose as the noise of the crowd filled his ears. He was slightly overwhelmed by all the impressions and felt a pang of homesickness, but he supposed he would get used to it. He was willing to try. His mother thought that this was the best for him. He had always trusted in her judgement and he wasn't about to start doubting her now.

He arrived at the courtyard in front of the castle where Gaius lived and worked and Merlin immediately sensed how the atmosphere differed. It almost felt like there was static in the air. People were tense and nowhere near as cheery as the people he had passed in the lower city.

On a balcony high above the courtyard stood a man. He had an imposing presence and anyone who saw him would immediately know who he was, all it took was one glance at the crown resting upon his head. The King of Camelot was looking out at the crowd; his gaze locked on an archway to Merlin's left.

Merlin followed the King's gaze as the beating of drums filled the air, a steady drumming like the sound of heartbeats.

Of the assembled people quiet a few were looking up at the King, others, like Merlin, were trying to see why the man who ruled over them all was turned to the archway.

The answer soon appeared. A bound man was brought forth, led none too gently by a guard whose expression was grim. The shackled man looked defeated, his head was lowered and he didn't struggle as the guard took him up to a podium.

The King started to speak and Merlin wasn't sure what he should think. Uther declared that the man upon the podium, whose name was Tomas James Collins, had conspired to use enchantments and magic, and so he had no other choice but to sentence the man to death.

Merlin was filled with ice cold dread as he realized that the man was about to be executed. He looked so normal, no different from the farmers in Ealdor. He had thinning, brown hair, a kind, honest face. He was dressed an in simple brown tunic and a woollen jacket. He could have been anybody. Surely the man had friends, a family, someone who would grieve his passing. What had he done to deserve this punishment? And would he, Merlin, end up the in the same placed, killed because he possessed magic?

Reality was crashing down, the realization that he could get killed for being who he was appeared in the young warlock for the first time. He had known that King Uther tolerated no magic within his kingdom, but seeing this firsthand was something else.

On the way to Camelot he had been thinking about the laws under which he would now live where he would be exiled at best and brutally executed at worst if his magic was discovered. He hadn't worried all that much about it. Maybe because it hadn't truly sunk in, but now he could see the truth of the matter with his own eyes and it wasn't a truth he liked.

Tomas Collins was pushed down to his knees, his head forced to rest against the chopping block. The low murmurs of the crowd died down as the executioner raised his axe, ready to let it fall on the King's command.

Merlin wanted to look away, but he couldn't. He had to look. He couldn't pretend that this wasn't real. People with magic were persecuted and he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he couldn't at least see the punishment being carried out.

The drums sounded again and the axe fell, cutting Tomas' head clean off. Merlin suppressed a wince, while a woman next to him didn't do as well, letting out a small shriek.

It was odd how fast the people turned their attention away from the lifeless body that had only a moment earlier been a living human being. The King had started speaking again, demanding their attention.

"When I came to this land, this kingdom was mired in chaos, but with the people's help magic was driven from the realm. So I declare a festival. To celebrate twenty years since the great dragon was captured and Camelot freed from the evil of sorcery." He held out his arms, as if to welcome them all. "Let the celebrations begin!" The King finished and turned away.

The event was over and the crowd started to disperse when suddenly an old woman stepped forth, drawing attention to herself. She wailed in distress, tears running down her wrinkled cheeks, while the light breeze played in her frizzled, gray hair.

"There is only one evil in this land and it is not magic!" she cried, clutching at the fabric of her dress. "It is you, with your hatred and your ignorance!"

Uther looked down at her, his face void of any emotion, waiting for her next move.

"You took my son," she said in a broken tone gesturing with her whole arm back at the body of the man who had been executed.

Merlin could sense her anguish, and… something more.

"Well I promise you; before these celebrations are over you will share my tears." Her voice grew in strength. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth," she choked up again, "a son for a son."

People all around were frozen in inaction, startled by her boldness.

The King swiftly came out of his stupor at being addressed in such a manner. "Seize her!" he commanded.

Before the guards were able to reach the old woman she chanted in a strange language, gripping an amulet that hung around her neck. A strong wind surrounded her, a gale whipping up. Those who had been standing closest recoiled. There was a bright light and then she was gone.

The crowd scattered, whether in fright of the magic they had just witnessed or the imminent retaliation of the King, was impossible to tell. Merlin saw the wisdom in not lingering and continued on his way.

Merlin managed to get directions to the quarters of the Court Physician in form of a grunt from a guard and signs on the walls. He walked up winding staircases, every sound he made echoing in the small space.

Before long he arrived at what he presumed was the right door, which was partially opened. Merlin knocked softly and looked inside.

The room was more littered with strange things than the stands at the market had been. His gaze slid over glass bottles with brightly coloured liquids, over dried herbs hanging on the walls and not least over a mask shaped as a rabbit's face. Merlin guessed this was the right place, whom else but the Court Physician would have the need of items such as the ones in this chamber?

"Hello?" he called out tentatively, his voice barely a whisper. He walked farther inside, clearing his throat as he spotted a man standing on a flimsy wooden balcony which followed one wall of the room. "Gaius?" he called out. He cleared his throat again, and the man turned around, losing his balance and falling right through the railing.

Instinctively Merlin slowed the old man's fall, looking around he spotted a cot and pushed it under Gaius using his magic, he let go of the first string of magic and the man fell on the bed.

"What did you just do?" the man demanded jumping up, grunting at the effort it took him to get up after the fall.

"Eh…"

"Tell me!" Gaius demanded, wild-eyed.

"I-I have no idea what happened," Merlin tried his best to sound convincing, it might have fallen flat.

"If anyone had seen that…"

"No, no! That was nothing to do with me. That-that..."

"I know what it was," the older man interrupted Merlin; "I just want to know where you learned how to do it!"

"Nowhere!" Merlin hurried to say.

"So how is it you know magic?"

"I don't!" Merlin shook his head, panting. He was beginning to become afraid. He had seen a man executed for practicing sorcery just moments earlier and here he was, discovered by the first person he'd met in Camelot. He mustn't be found out, but he thought that he might be able to trust this man. He reminded himself that Gaius had his mother's trust and that had to count for something. The look in his eyes said that he wasn't buying Merlin's explanation, and he was well on his way to making Merlin admit to having used magic to save him from the fall.

It would be unlucky if the man found out before Merlin knew if he could be trusted, still he told himself that things couldn't have gone any differently, once Gaius fell there was only one thing to do and that was to make sure the man didn't get hurt.

"Where did you study?" Gaius looked steadily at him, old wrinkled face, framed by light gray hair and blue eyes insistent. "Out with it!" he yelled, startling Merlin into responding.

"I-I've never studied magic. Or-or been taught."

"Are you lying to me, boy?" Gaius asked, walking forward. For an old man who was shorter than Merlin, he sure was intimidating.

"What do you want me to say?" Merlin asked, giving up.

"The truth!"

"I was born like this!"

"That's impossible!" The older man seemed to realise that he had no idea who the young man was. "Who are you?" he asked incredulously.

"Oh, eh," Merlin mumbled, taking his off his backpack. "I have this letter," he said rummaging through his satchel bringing forth a small note and handing it to Gaius.

"I've… I don't have my glasses," Gaius said waving the letter around.

Merlin smiled, the man suddenly didn't seem as intimidating. "I'm Merlin," he said and watched as realisation washed over the other man's face.

"Hunith's son?"

"Yes!" Merlin's smile broadened.

"But you're not meant to be here till Wednesday!"

The smile on Merlin's face slipped off. "It is Wednesday."

Gaius froze. "Ah. Right then. You better put your pack in there." He gestured up a low staircase to an adjoining room.

Merlin made to follow the instructions, before turning around as he saw the broken railing on the balcony. "You won't say anything about… ehum?"

"No."

Merlin walked towards his room again, Gaius once more calling out. "Although Merlin," he said, "I should say thank you."

* * *

**End Chapter 5**

* * *

**AN 1st April 2013:**

That was the chapter in its entirety. Still a bit short and shorter than I had planned, but I settled for it as it was long enough to be considered a chapter and I did want to give you something to read. I also wanted to do something with April the 1st.

So in this chapter I use a few (or many) lines and scenes you might recognize from season 1 episode 1: the Dragon's call. I will continue to do so, although I will try to add a lot of newly written material, since that is a lot more fun to read (in my opinion.)

Thank you ihategoodbyes for looking over the chapter for me even though you said you didn't have the time. Thanks Kate!

I hope you liked the chapter and that you will stay tuned for more. It is likely that Merlin and Harry will meet next chapter.

**AN 6th April 2013:**

I removed the April Fools' joke, that's only funny for so long.


	6. Chapter 6

**Two Destinies**

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**Chapter 6**

_Words: 4 450_

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Morgana had been watching the execution of Tomas Collins from a window in one of the empty rooms overlooking the courtyard and she had remained standing there long after the death sentence had been carried out, lost in thought.

There had been something strange about the man and she wasn't able to put her finger upon what exactly it had been. For one moment she thought she had seen the man change appearance. She could swear that she had seen how his strait back and broad shoulders, turned hunched, his frame becoming skeleton-like with the addition of womanly curves. Then she had blinked and everything was back to normal, with Tomas Collins looking like an ordinary man whom you wouldn't be able to pick out in a crowd.

The strangeness hadn't ended there though. When Collins was forced down on his knees Morgana was certain that his form had flickered for a second. For a fraction of a moment it wasn't a man bending down by the chopping block, but a deathly ill woman, with sickly-pale skin and lank, blond hair.

It had lasted for such a short moment that Morgana had no other choice than to believe that she had imagined it. For surely it couldn't have been real?

It bothered her however, nearly as much as actually seeing Collins executed.

"Morgana, why are you hidden away in here?" Uther asked as he walked into the dark room where his ward had hidden away. "Why haven't you joined us in the feast?"

Morgana looked away from the axe that was imbedded in the wood of the chopping block. For her mind's eye it was still dripping red with blood. She blinked to make the image disappear and met the King's gaze. "I just don't think a beheading is a good cause for a celebration," she said in a clear voice and with a slight glare in her guardian's direction.

Uther sighed and moved to lean against the wall next to the window. "You're sounding like, Harry."

"Maybe he has the right idea!" Morgana said, her glare intensifying.

Uther shook his head.

"I envy him being able to hiding behind duty to escape seeing a poor mother grieving over the death of her son," Morgana continued softly.

"That woman threatened my sons' lives!" Uther bellowed, eyes blazing as he remembered the threat. "You should not pity her!"

"She wouldn't have resorted to threats had you not first taken the life of _her_ son! You value Arthur and Harry's lives? Can you not then understand how another parent must feel? That man… he looked so defeated, almost dead already. Surely he could have done no harm. He didn't hurt anybody, did he? He only practiced some magic."

"You were not around twenty years ago! You did not see the horrors I had to witness! That man only received justice for what he'd done!"

"And what was his crime? You have yet to tell me what awful deed he committed when using these enchantments."

The King scowled. "I will not tolerate magic in my kingdom!"

Morgana noticed that she hadn't received an answer and this did nothing to placate her. "How long are you going to keep punishing people for what happened all those years ago?"

"Until they've learned that there is no room for sorcery in Camelot! You will be with me when I greet Lady Helen." Uther began to stalk off.

"I've told you! I want no part of it!"

Uther turned on his heel, storming back. "I am your guardian! I expect you to do as I ask. If you'll show me no respect, at least respect our finest singer." The King could see that Morgan was about to talk back. "So help me Morgana!" He sighed once more. "Maybe this will appease you; both of my sons have given me their word that they will attend Lady Helen's performance."

"Why would I care about that? Arthur's company is hardly something I willingly seek."

Uther's scowl twitched a bit in humour and his frown lessened, the relations between his oldest son and his ward was a constant source of amusement. "Harry put up even a larger fight than you," he said. "If he, who promotes the right of the magic folk at any given time, can put aside our differences and do his duty, I expect you to be able to do the same."

"Fine," she muttered.

"Good." Uther couldn't be satisfied with that though. "Now I don't want to hear any more such talk from you. I do what I do for a reason." Uther swept out of the room, not allowing Morgana to get the last word; however she was not to be bested.

"You know the more brutal you are the more enemies you'll create!" she yelled after him.

Once other was gone Morgana went back to gazing out the window, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers. She didn't really see the darkening court yard, though. She relived the execution again and again, seeing the man on his knees, brown hair turning blond for a moment, then splatters of blood flying and hands twitching even after his head had been cut off.

She was so lost in thought that she didn't hear the sound of leather boots against the stone floor.

"So..?" a man said dryly.

She flinched at the sound of the voice and looked up to see a broad frame clad in a red and a head covered with thick, dark blond hair. She sought the man's eyes and was slightly disappointed as she spotted blue.

"Oh, it's you," she said, dismissing Arthur and looking out the window once more.

"I hear that you don't willingly seek my company, I supposed you just had to verify it."

She snorted, not sparing the Crown Prince another glance. "You have scarcely given me reason to seek your company," she responded. After a moment of silence, she continued with a cutting question. "Did you eavesdrop just now?"

Arthur let out a sound that was halfway between snort and laugh. "I could hardly escape overhearing with the way you two argue. You are nearly as bad as my brother when it comes to eliciting father's ire."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"I should have known you would."

"You should. Did you approve of Tomas Collin's death sentence?" she then asked.

"No, but father does have a point. Magic can be dangerous if used for the wrong reasons."

"So you are happy with the way Uther are handling things? Or are you just too much of a coward to stand up to him?"

"I am no coward!" Arthur exclaimed, taking offence.

She scoffed. "You say that and yet you weren't even brave enough to watch the execution of that poor man."

"I'll have you know that bravery had nothing to do with my absence. Harry asked me not to watch," Arthur said smugly, crossing his arms over his chest. He knew that as soon as he dropped Harry's name Morgana would come around.

"Oh?" she said, surprise colouring her tone as she turned to face the blond man.

"Yes." Arthur nodded. "He asked me this morning. He had been to see Collins and apparently the lack of our presence would show the man our support. He said that it might also work as a silent protest against father."

"Humph." Morgana shook her head fondly, her long, dark locks dancing around her face. "The last part didn't succeed. Uther only sees what he wants to."

"Maybe," Arthur answered diplomatically. "I and Harry have both been deeply involved in the case with Collins. I was the one who investigated whether he had committed the crime he was accused of, as father actually have taken to heart what Harry has said to him about thoroughly look into cases before a judgement is placed. There was irrefutable proof that Collins was planning to use enchantments."

"What was he planning? Uther would not tell me."

"I'm betting that you will like this as little as my brother did." Arthur sighed. "Collins was planning to try and use magic to heal a deathly ill woman. It was overheard when her husband begged his help."

"Oh," Morgana said, thinking about how she thought she had seen Collins turn into a sick woman. "And what happened to the woman?" she asked.

"I am not sure," was Arthur's reply. "We never found out who she or her husband was. The man who overheard the conversation could only identify Collins, and Collins himself was unwilling to give away their names, fearing that they would share his fate for consorting with a sorcerer."

"Uther is really going too far if he is killing a man simply for helping another." Arthur opened his mouth to respond, but Morgana spoke before he got the chance. "Don't you dare defend him! It is atrocious! How could he? That woman is likely dead now, and maybe she wouldn't have been had magic been allowed!"

"I'm not saying that the way things are, are the best they could be, but would allowing magic truly be a better option? How would we control it? How would we stand against those who are able to kill as easily as you and I draw breath?"

"Is that you speaking, Arthur Pendragon, or is it your father?"

The Prince shook his head. "I'm not on father's side, neither am I on yours and Harry's. I believe in a compromise."

"So do I and Harry!" Morgana exclaimed. "We're not for allowing sorcerers to do whatever they please, but you should draw a line somewhere and it is long before we execute people simply for being born the way they are!"

"Maybe. I don't know. I simply want what is best for the people."

"And aren't those born with magic also part of this world, part of your people? I hope you come to see this before your time to take the crown comes."

"I'm sure you and Harry won't allow me to do otherwise."

"True. Where is Harry anyway?"

"He rode towards the border to Essetir early this morning. He was to investigate the unrest we've been getting reports of. Anyway, since my company is of such displeasure to you I will take my leave, and you'd better hope that Harry isn't held up, otherwise it will fall to me to escort you to Lady Helen's performance."

"I don't need ether of you to accompany me. I am a grown, independent woman and I can go by myself."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

"Very well then." Arthur gave a slight bow of his head and asked one final question before he made to leave. "Would you just tell me one thing? Should my brother be here, would you choose to go with him?"

Morgana smirked. "I never said I didn't enjoy _his_ company."

_.oOo._

The night arrived swiftly and darkness had fallen by the time Merlin had settled into the small chamber Gaius so graciously had provided him with. The room was far from being extravagant, the walls were rough and wooden boxes were standing haphazardly here and there taking up space along the walls and out on the floor, showing that the space likely had been used as storage at some point.

Despite this Merlin couldn't have been happier with his accommodations. The scarce furniture was sturdy and looked like it could stand through the rendering of the earth itself without even getting scratched.

Not to mention the bed. It may be narrow, and the mattress may be thin compared to the bedding of the royals of the castle, but to Merlin it looked like a piece of paradise. To his tired body it felt like lying down on a cloud and the rough linen felt like the finest silk against his cheek. All in all the room looked homely in the yellowish light from the candles.

As Merlin was settling in for the night when he spotted a window high on one of the walls and he climbed up to inspect the view. He latched opened the window and could feel his breath hitching as he took in the scenery. It was as awe-inspiring from the inside as it had been from the outside.

The city was spread out below him with the full moon right ahead adding its pale light to the yellow glow from windows in the houses.

Merlin could hear the sound of people talking, but it was distant and not as imposing as it had been when he walked among them.

The ripe smell that came of so many people living together, which was something Merlin could gladly have live without, was weak, chased away by a warm breeze from the surrounding forest. The night air filled his nose with the fresh smell of new leaves and dry grass.

Standing there looking at his new home, ha was filled with cautious hope.

His first day in Camelot could have goon better. Seeing an execution and being discovered as a sorcerer was not how he had planned it, yet things had turned out alright. He had not been forced to share the man's fate… yet. Instead he had been shown a great kindness, something which he would not soon forget.

_.oOo._

Lady Helen of Mora was a noble woman who was renowned in the whole of Albion for her beautiful singing voice. Though she wasn't as known for her beauty, Helen was still a fine-looking woman with lustrous, dark hair and clear, hazel eyes.

Though not one of the vainest noble woman she did enjoy comfort and as such the journey to Camelot, where she would sing at a festival at the personal request of King Uther, had taken a long time. The guards the King had provided raised no complaints about this as they had known beforehand that the journey would be dragging.

Still this night no one would even think about complaining, for they were nearing Camelot and would, if the fates allowed it, arrive in the city by next nightfall.

As any other night, on their way from the south, a pavilion had been sat up for the Lady and the guards were watching the camp vigilantly.

Lady Helen was feeling content, she was looking forward to the festival, she had not only been graced with the ability to sing, she had also been graced by a great feeling of fulfilment each time she did so. She truly loved music and she knew that the court of Camelot held great appreciation for her art, resulting in making performing to them an even greater joy.

While seated in her pavilion humming softly to herself and braiding down her hair in preparation for the night, Helen thought she heard a strange noise; a rustling of leaves followed by the howling of some animal.

"Hello?" she called out as she saw a shadow move on the other side of the tent. "Gregory?" For a moment she was frightened, but then Gregory made an appearance at the pavilion's entrance, stilling her pounding heart.

"Lady Helen?"

"Is all well?" she asked, still wanting more reassurance.

"Yes, milady," the knight said softly, nodding his head. "With luck, as we suspected, we shall reach Camelot late tomorrow."

"That's good." She smiled.

"I'll be outside if you need me." The man took his leave, leaving Helen alone again.

As he stepped outside Gregory could here the rustling of leaves in the direction of where the horses were bound, it was followed by the flapping of wings as some bird was disturbed. "Who's there?" he called walking towards the sound, drawing his blade. There was a strange whispering in the wind. "Who's there?" he asked once more, receiving no answer.

Lady Helen had continued her nightly preparations, and was startled as she once more heard the rustling of leaves outside her tent. A shadow of a cloaked figure appeared, bringing with it a humming of the same melody which Lady Helen had been signing on just before. The voice was strangely familiar, although it was hard to tell when no words were sung, but it sounded like it was Helen who was still singing.

The shadow moved towards the entrance and Lady Helen got to her feet as a face appeared. It was an old woman, with a face wrinkly as old tree bark and flying brown-grey hair. The old woman spoke in a hissing voice, muttering an incantation. She brought up a blade and brought it back down, piercing a small man shaped doll of straw.

Helen choked, feeling as if the dagger had gone into her own chest. The dagger was stabbed into the doll again. And again. Lady Helen fell down, here eyes glazed over in death.

The old woman whose name was Mary Collins ignored the fallen Helen, sitting down by the Lady's vanity and grasping the pendant that hung around her neck.

She spoke an enchantment and closed her eyes, feeling the magic at work. When she opened them again, there was no sign of Mary Collins. In her place sat a copy of Lady Helen, shiny dark hair having replaced bushy gray and wrinkled skin giving away for the smoothness of youth.

Mary smiled, feeling her new face. She would have her revenge, Uther would share her loss. But she looked into the mirror seeing her own face starring back and knew that she would have to be careful.

_.oOo._

The company Harry led had been riding the entire day, only stopping once by a brook to water the horses and to consume a meagre meal of dried meat and bread before the were off once more.

They had been keeping a strait course for a village named Néahdún which was the largest one in the area they were headed towards and it was also the village where most of the reports had been coming from.

They would have continued on into the night had they not been forced to stop as the gloom of twilight made their path uncertain and facing unknown foes in the darkness was a bad plan any day.

At this point they were about to exit an area of forested leading out to open fields and rolling hills. One of the scouts had been keeping a look back while the other scouted out the way ahead and the older man, Leofric who had been moving ahead could tell them that once they exited the forest they had only to ride up the nearest hill to spot Néahdún.

They chose to make camp in the outskirts of the forest, deeming it safer there then in the open land beyond the tree line where enemies could spot them from miles away.

Harry had been very quiet the whole day and he could sense that his fellow knights were wondering what that was about.

Now he had never been the chattiest person, having Arthur as a brother could do that to you, as the other prince was very charismatic and naturally made his way to the centre of attention, but away from his older brother Harry was a leader and the people who knew him expected him to assume that role, which meant that he would be stepping up and also become more talkative.

The knights who were with him knew this well, for when Harry choose who would come with him on this mission he had chosen the knights he was closest to.

The three consisted of Sir Geraint, a knight only a few years older than Harry who was known for being honourable and a good leader, then there was Sir Edric who was young, but showed great promise and who along with his brother Sir Osric had been a good friend of both Harry and Arthur since the days of boyhood and lastly there was Sir Bertrand who was older than the other two and whose superior skills had allowed him to reach that age.

These three men had Harry's complete trust and there were no others apart from his brother who he'd rather have protecting his back. He had a bad feeling about the task ahead of them and knew that before it was over he would need men he could depend on. He also had other reasons for wanting them away from Camelot.

"I'll take first watch," Harry said once a fire was going, the horses were brushed down and everyone had settled.

There was however nothing noble about his offer. He was afraid of the nightmares he would most probably be having and there was one thing to have them in his chambers where no one would hear his screams or see his thrashings and a completely different matter to show these men, who he was supposed to lead, how vulnerable he was to his own subconscious.

The dreams of his second set of parents' death were steadily growing worse. Harry theorizes it was because of the new information he had been given by Sirius. His godfather had been able to tell him what the green light meant and knowing that it was the light of the dark magic which had ripped the life from his family and so many others only added to his fear.

"You don't need to do that Harry," said Sir Edric, sitting down next to Harry.

"Go to sleep," Harry said, shoving him playfully. "I'll wake you for second watch if you're so eager to pass up the chance to rest."

"I don't think I am the one who wants to avoid sleep. Something troubles you," the other knight insisted.

"These reports make little sense," Harry said, noting that the other men were listening now. "Nothing has been seen, yet villagers in these regions all say that they can feel something sinister in the air once night falls. And at the same time nobody claims that magic or unnatural beasts are involved, they all think this is the work of man and this makes me uneasy."

"Magic," the younger of the scouts spat. "I have only ever seen it corrupt. If sorcery is involved we are in for trouble."

"Take care what you say," cautioned Sir Bertrand, his greying hair and wrinkled face demanding respect of the young man who had spoken.

"Why should I?" the man asked, heatedly. "The King has forbidden all sorcery in Camelot, there is no risk in speaking up against it."

"My father has indeed banished magic from the realm," Harry said softly, his voice still carrying. "But saying that magic only corrupts is taken things too far, we do not yet know what has caused this unrest and I warn you to not take anything for granted. If you believe magic is at hand you have already determined the cause of the problem and will not see what lies before your eyes. We go in with clear minds, searching for what is going on, without any preconceptions for that will only lead to an early end."

"Well spoken, my lord," the other scout, Leofric said. "Now hush, Brain, you'd do better to sleep so that your sharp eyes can be of use to us in the morning rather than pestering us with your sharp tongue tonight."

"Yes, uncle." The young scout stalked of, slumping down on his bedroll on the far side of their small camp, with his back towards the fire.

"Excuse him, sire," Leofric said. "He is young and hot-headed. It doesn't help that my sister, the lad's mother, was killed by druids opposing the King. He only sees the world in black and white, and in experience magic is firmly settled on the black side."

Harry nodded, too tired to make a bigger deal out if it.

"There is something more though, isn't there?" Sir Edric asked after a moment of silence. "There is something else bothering you?"

"Yes," Harry answered as there was no use denying it, having his friends with him meant that he wasn't able to hide his emotions. "It has to do with the matters we just discussed and I would rather not speak of it."

"I see." And Edric did understand. He knew well Harry's opinion on the matter of magic and its usage as well as the execution which would have started the celebrations earlier that day.

One after one the men fell asleep, leaving Harry the only one awake. He was sitting with his back towards the fire as to keep his eyes adjusted to the surrounding darkness.

The night was quiet; the only sounds were those of the sleeping men, the crackling of the steadily burning fire, the occasional soft neighing from the horses and the sound of the wind rustling the leaves in tree tops.

It would have been tranquil had it not been for the fact that the young prince knew something sinister, whether man or beast, was out there.

His mind was troubled, though he had promised his brother not to dwell on Tomas Collins he couldn't escape the thoughts and memories that were connected to the man. He dearly hoped that Collins had found freedom in _death_. At least Uther's tyranny could no longer touch him.

After some time he rose from his place by the fire and slowly made his way around the camp on light feet, disturbing the dry leaves under the soles of his boots as little as possible.

As he passed Sir Geraint the tall man let out a loud snore, startling Harry and making him reach for his sword. It was silly and he chuckled once he understood that the sound was nothing to worry about, feeling the tension leaving his shoulders.

He walked by the horses, stroking down the flank of one, letting the feeling of the warm coat under his fingers calm him further.

He could see nothing suspicious and Harry thought that he could take a moment to himself without fear of anything disturbing the peace in the mean time.

There was a small lake near their campsite, where the forest thinned out into hills. Harry kept his eyes on the ground, determined not to trip on any of the gnarled old roots underfoot and making a fool out of himself if he were to land on his own sword or something equally embarrassing, so it wasn't until he was by the shore of the lake that he looked up.

There was a red haze by the horizon, concentrated to a small point and smoke was billowing from it. Harry could feel his heart speeding up and he ran back to the others.

"Wake up!" he yelled. "Néahdún is under attack!"

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**End Chapter 6**

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**AN 6th April 2013:**

This chapter was also a bit of a filler, like the last one (btw I removed the April Fools' joke, I hope you read beyond the first "End chapter 5"), yet I am rather proud of it. Though nothing exiting happens I think I managed to make the flow smooth and yeah… There's a bit of foreboding and a few hints as well as some introductions. The three knights in Harry's company have all been mentioned by name through the series, although they never play any important parts. The scouts however are completely OC. I hope you don't mind them. And I hope you enjoyed the chapter.

PS. Evil cliff-hanger FTW! (When you're the author)


	7. Chapter 7

**Two Destinies**

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**Chapter 7**

_Words: 4 192_

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"Did you hear me? Néahdún is under attack!" Harry yelled storming into the camp.

"What?" Geraint said, sitting up stiff as a rod, rubbing at his eyes in an effort to clear them of sleep. "Harry what's going on?" he asked rather groggily.

"There's fire just where Néahdún is. The village is under attack!" Harry explained hurriedly, already grabbing at his pack, pulling out his chainmail and armour. It would be sorely needed now. Maybe he would also have to resort to giving himself _an extra edge_ depending on the nature of the situation, he hoped not.

"Are you sure?" Bertrand asked, the older knight was already alert, showing that he had the experience the younger men lacked. Without waiting for an answer he began to mirror Harry's actions by locating his own gear.

"Yes, there's no doubt about it." Harry stomped out the fire and glared at Edric who was still tucked under his blanket, eyes closed and face slack in sleep. How the man hadn't been disturbed by Harry's yelling was anyone's guess.

"Get up!" Harry snapped at his long-time friend and kicked the sleeping knight lightly, making him groan. Yet it was effective for it made Edric get up. "We've got to help them!"

Harry continued, rushing around the camp, gathering up any items that lay about whether they were his own or not. "And if we are going to be of any use to them we need to get there now!"

Once the men had realized what was going on it only took them moments to break camp and get ready for battle. Armours were put on, swords were at hand and their faces held bitter miens.

"We don't know what lies ahead," Harry said as he sat up on his horse, the others doing the same. "Be prepared for anything," he cautioned grimly. He looked around; the five men under his command were ready. He nodded in satisfaction, and took a tighter grip of his rains. "We ride! For Camelot and for Néahdún!"

A mad dash on horseback through the darkness followed. Up hill and down hill they rode. The pounding of hoofs against ground sounded through the night, accompanied of the rattling of chainmail and the howling of a steadily rising wind.

Their path was well marked by the red haze of the fire and the smell of sulphur and burnt wood soon filled their noses as their entire horizon was filled with billowing, red-glowing smoke. Sparks and flakes of ash rained down on them as the sound of the wind was overtaken by screaming. When they neared Néahdún they were met by running people, villagers fleeing their homes in desperation. But there was no sign of an enemy, it didn't bode well.

"What's going on?" Harry yelled at a group of women, raining in his steed to a trot so that he could speak with them. "Who is attacking you?"

"They're already gone," one woman sobbed in answer, stumbling to a stop, while the others continued on. "They came out of nowhere, and now my daughter is dead…" her voice broke.

"That's alright Helda, you need say no more." A man appeared at her side and placed an arm protectively around the crying woman, holding her close. "If you want to know what happened, Sir Knight, I recommend that you speak with Ivor or Oswald, they were on guard duty when the attack happened."

"Where can we find them?" Harry asked urgently.

"I think they might still be evacuating more people," the man answered, breaking out into a coughing fit. His face was covered in a thick layer of dark sot and his clothes were scorched, making Harry guess that he had been lucky to escape the fire at all, perhaps had he tried to save the woman's daughter.

"Thank you."

Harry got a nod from the man, who was now led away by the woman, their roles reversed as he was weak from the continued coughing.

This was not going to be easy, that much had already been made clear. Harry let out a breath and squared his shoulders, sitting straighter in his saddle. "Geraint, find Ivor and Oswald, ask them what they know. Edric, Bertrand, help the people as best you can, but be ready, we don't know if the enemy is still here."

The knights exchanged a few words and went to follow their orders, Geraint and Edric riding towards the village while Bertrand went in the direction of the gathering villagers.

"Leofric, Brain, make sure we really are alone and do your best to find out where the culprits went." The scouts nodded and they too left Harry's side to follow the orders. Harry himself surveilled the damage. It was bad, and that was putting it rather mildly.

The trickle of escaping people dwindled as Harry rode a lap around the village, which was relatively large for this region, so close to the border between two kingdoms as it were. As long as the tension remained between Camelot and Essetir, it would be an uncertain territory to call one's home.

Every single house in the entire village had been set ablaze, thatched rooftops lighting up the night like over dimensioned torches, wooden beams crackling as the heat destroyed them and glass from the windows melting in the furnace like heat. He could feel the warmth of the flame against his face and avoided riding too close.

There would be no saving the structures, Harry could tell that from a single glance. Everything had been made out of wood, not as much as a foundation would be left standing once the fire died down; all of it would be destroyed in the wake of the fire. The entire village would have to be rebuilt, if the people were up to it that is.

The young Prince believed in them however. The people of Camelot were survivors, they wouldn't let this stop them and with a bit of help life would flourish here once more, he was certain of it. He would make certain of it. Just as he would make certain that whoever was responsible was stopped and put to justice.

Harry came to a stop on the other side of the village, looking around he cursed the increasing wind as he noticed that it made the flames spread. The weather had been dry for a long time, with only sparse amounts of rain, and unless the fire was stopped it was no telling how large an area it would destroy.

"Damn it," he swore under his breath. He didn't want to use magic and would prefer any other solution, it looked bleak though and as he rode back to the area where the people had gathered he went over possible spells he could use to control the fire in his head, aguamenti was out that was for sure, it was not nearly powerful enough and it would hardly be inconspicuous if he started throwing jets of water out of his hands. He would have to look to the magic of the old religion if he was to do anything that would actually help.

He spotted Ser Geraint talking to a man and sat down from his horse, walking over to them. "What have you found out?" he asked.

Geraint's expression was sombre. "No one has seen the attackers; they came like the night itself, just shadows, they lit the fires which spread with unnatural haste and then they were gone."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked this turned to the man.

"Yes, sir," he said, nodding. His face, like the people they had first encountered, was covered with sot. "They were like ghost though I dare say they had to be men. It all happened so fast. I and Ivor were patrolling, we have heard of unrest for our neighbouring villagers, and we didn't want to be caught unawares so a militia was formed. Much good that did us. They must have been watching us for some time for they knew exactly when to strike so that we wouldn't see them clearly and how to spread the fire so that as few as possible would be able to flee."

"Could anyone else have seen something?"

"No, sir, everyone else was all asleep in their beds."

"Tell me everything you saw."

"I was at the east side of the village when I saw the fire. They started it by shooting arrows, for a moment the entire sky to the south was alight with them. Ivor was hit by one of them, it literary ripped him apart. I've never seen anything like it, never imagined anything like it." He shook his head. "They ones who did never came close, they didn't have to. The fire, it spread like it was a beast. It was no normal fire; it behaved like it had a conscience, starting with the houses that held people, forming barriers to keep people from escaping. Right when the attack started, after I saw Ivor fall, I ran up on that hill," he pointed at a hill about two-hundred paces from where they were standing. "In the distance I could see the shapes of men on horseback, when they retreated I figured that it was more important to get everyone to safety rather than pursuing them. What could I have done, even had I caught up to them?"

"You did right," Geraint said and Harry agreed. This man was no knight. Had he tried to go after the ones responsible for the destruction of Néahdún it would only have ended in his demise.

"Oswald!" a man called.

"What is it, Kevan?"

"Everyone who survived has gathered, but what are we to do now?" the man, Kevan, asked despairingly. He limped up to them, as with everyone else he was covered in sot, but he looked a sight worse than the people Harry had seen so far. He had a gash running from his hairline down to his temple, blood trickling in a slow but steady stream from it. Even in the red light from the fire your gaze was drawn to his badly burnt right arm, and to make the image even more tragic a small boy was clinging to his leg. "We have no food, no supplies. Everyone has lost someone." He seemed to be tired to the bone. Harry had to admire him; a lesser man wouldn't still be standing. "Our home is gone."

"You'll find refuge in Camelot," Harry said, trying to uplift his spirits. He knew that at the moment this wasn't much of a comfort, but he had to do what he could, not only because it was his duty, but he felt for them, and guilt was beginning to tear at his conscience. If they only had arrived earlier, had they not stopped for the night at his command, then they could have been there, they could have stopped the attack from happening. "Help will be sent to help you rebuild your homes in time, supplies to help you survive in the meantime will arrive as soon as possible."

"Is that really true?" Oswald asked. "Camelot has never done much for us; you didn't even arrive in time. King Uther doesn't care about the outlying villages, not really." He was bitter and allowed these words to escape, and then an expression of fear fell over his face as he realized that he was talking to a Knight of Camelot. "I'm sorry sir, I did not mean to."

"I understand," Harry said solemnly, hearing the words he'd thought himself making them weigh heavier. "You've just lost everything. I do regret that we couldn't be here sooner. But I will see to that you can rebuild. It's the least I can do."

"If you say so, sir Knight, yet I don't dare believe you. I don't want to get my hopes up. We don't need that."

"Take care how you speak," Geraint said, beginning to feel a bit put off on Harry's behalf.

"Geraint, don't…" Harry said. He did not wish to argue, there was more yet to be done this night and these were only the words of a distressed man, he didn't mean anything by it.

"Oh?" Oswald said, looking at Geraint. "And why should I?"

"Harry's a man of his word. If he says that help will come, then it'll be so."

"And why should I trust your word of his actions, when I don't trust his?"

"Enough!" Harry stopped the argument. He smiled faintly at the man's startled look and also to try and calm him as he looked slightly frightened again. "I am Harry Pendragon and I give you my word that the aid of Camelot will be yours."

Now the man looked truly afraid, not knowing what to expect for having slighted a member of the royal family. "I-I, I'm sorry for my insolence, sire. Had I known…"

"It's alright, this is a hard time for all of us, and I ask you now not to be afraid to speak your mind in my presence, voicing your thoughts will never end in punishment from me."

"Thank you, sire, you are too kind."

"What has made you distrust the knights of Camelot and my father?"

"Nothing in particular, we live our own lives, seldom mixing with other people than those of the surrounding villages, yet whenever Camelot has been involved grief has followed. You won't be hearing any praise about your father in these regions."

"I thank you for your frankness, and vow to do my best to change the way you and your fellows view us."

"We do not think badly of you all," Kevan said. "We've only ever heard good about you and your brother and have good hope for the future."

"That is true," Oswald conceded. "I thank you on behalf of Néahdún, sire. I'll let the others know, now we truly have hope and it'll make the time that lies ahead easier to bear."

"That is all very well, but now we have more to do, this night is not over yet. The fire must not be allowed to spread; the devastation that would cause is unimaginable. We need to contain it. Do we have the means to do this?"

"I don't see how," Kevan said, hosting up the young boy to sit at his hip. "Our two wells were in the centre of the village, there are no lakes or even springs nearby and we've got no buckets or other tools with which we could carry water, and even if we had we don't have nearly enough men to make it work."

"Damn it all to hell," Harry swore under his breath, taking care to speak Sirius's language so that the others wouldn't understand, he shook his head. "Move the people farther away, it should be safer there and you are better off near the forest, it'll give you some protection from the wind and rain. There is also a lake there, so you'll have access to fresh water."

"We'll do as you suggest. It won't be easy to move tonight, but no one will be sad if we don't have to see the fire anymore."

"My Lord!" Harry turned around and saw Brain galloping in their direction. "A new fire has been started!" He called.

"Where?" Harry forced himself to not groan, he needed to keep up appearances. He had to be proficient and the symbol they needed. This could be good. If a new fire had been started the culprits had to be around and that meant that they were around to be stopped.

"To the south west! Its a few hills over, clearly visible from atop that hill!" The scout came to a stop by them and pointed to the same hill Oswald had mentioned earlier.

"That's where Ǽdre is," Oswald said, following the pointed arm with his gaze, his eyes filled with anguish "Ǽdre is the closest village to Néahdún. You have to help them! My niece lives there!"

"We will," Harry said to the man, clasping his shoulder lightly. "Brain?"

"Edric has already ridden off," the scout continued. "I met him first and he decided not to wait."

"Good," Harry said, wasting no time, he was already moving towards his horse, Geraint doing the same. "Find Bertrand and inform him, have him join us. You and Leofric are to remain here, help the people as best you can."

"Yes, my lord."

"Come on," Harry said to Geraint and both knights sat up on their horses and they were off.

Once more they rode through the darkness, fire at their backs and fire their goal, but it wasn't going fast enough, at this pace the once who did this would get away again. A thought worse than that flickered through Harry's mind. He didn't know how much of a head start Edric had. He didn't want to think about what could happen if the knight arrived there and engaged the enemies alone, they were clearly prepared.

Harry pressed his heels into the sides of his horse, urging the stallion to run faster. The animal stretched out its legs at its fullest, and he could feel the strong muscles working under him, yet it wasn't enough. Harry glanced to the side where Sir Geraint was riding, keeping up with him. He closed his eyes momentarily, trying to make up his mind. There was nothing to it.

"Giefan arosciepe ofost," he murmured, pushing his magic into the horse, giving it more energy, pushing the speed slightly, not so much that it would look suspicious, but giving him the extra edge he longed for, that he needed.

The wind whipped in his hair, strikingly cold against his skin as it purged the smell of the burning village behind him, it was bitter to know that all too soon it would return, replaced by the ashes from Ǽdre.

Geraint fell behind, and Harry galloped alone, the fire coming closer and there was more to it. As he came up a ridge he could see the village bellow where it lay beside a creak, the water in it reflecting the flames, but he did not care for the scenery, his eyes found the shape of a man with flowing red cape, sat astride a horse, sword in hand as he thought down men dressed in polished armour with tunics of green with an emblem of a black snake, the emblem of Essetir.

Just like in Néahdún people were fleeing their homes, but this time the enemy had remained as they had spotted opposition, and they must have thought that it would be easily defeated, a lone man would pose no threat, but Edric was a knight of Camelot and as such he was one of the best.

Harry rode down the ridge and for a moment the village was out of sight, then the land became flak and he was nearly there.

The fire was intense and it had started to spread, much faster than it had done at Néahdún. He had to do something; soon he wouldn't have the concentration to do so. Still riding at full speed harry took a moment to close his eyes and call upon his power, now he was glad for all those hours looking through dusty old scrolls, it had paid off.

"Lyfthelm gadrain giefan lagu!" he called. If anyone had heard they would have felt a shiver travel down their spine at the intensity of the words and if anyone had seen, they would have been able to witness how Harry's eyes glowed golden.

The sky that had been clear was suddenly covered with raging storm clouds, lightning blazed through them, lighting up the land better than any fire could have, before they were plunged back into darkness, and then came a deafening boom of thunder, and finally rain.

It poured down from the heavens, choking the flames with its intensity. Harry's attention however was already on other matters. With a battle cry he joined Edric in the fight.

_.oOo._

"Merlin." A rumbling voice said Merlin's name with insistence. "Merlin." Only one person heard it. "Merlin. Merlin!"

It was with the memory of his name being whispered that Merlin woke up. He contemplated the dream for a few moments before he dismissed it as simply being that; a dream.

It was still dark outside. Judging by how he was feeling, it should be in the middle of the night with morning nowhere in sight.

It was rather warm in his room, surprising him. He would have guessed it would get cold, what with all the stone and no hearth for a fire.

He wondered why he had woken up. The dream hadn't been the reason. There had been nothing disturbing about it. Merlin yawned, stretching in his bed. It wasn't like him to wake up, most of the time he had no trouble sleeping through the night. He supposed it could be because he was in a new place, the surroundings unfamiliar and all, but then the same could have been said about the previous night when he slept on the road. On all accounts he should have had trouble staying asleep then as well if that was the case, yet he had slept peacefully until a strangely unafraid rabbit sniffed at his face, startling Merlin who in turn startled the rabbit.

He rubbed at his eyes and threw away the covers, padding over to the window. The stone underneath his feet was cold and it felt good against his heated soles. He climbed up and unlatched the window, leaning his elbows against it, holding his head in his hands.

Merlin sighed as he felt the cold, night air against his skin. It was peaceful, yet he was certain that some sort of tension had stirred him.

He gazed at the sky. Before he'd gone to sleep it had been clear, the full moon shining over the city. Now there were no traces of either moon or stars.

A faint light lit up the horizon for a fraction of second. Merlin narrowed his eyes, trying to see what it was. A moment later another light followed, this one closer. Lightning. A low rumble came a moment later and sooner than you might have expected, rain was falling.

It started with a few scattered drops. Then it turned into a downpour the likes of which Camelot hadn't seen in living memory. It was as if the entire sky was coming down, determined to flood the lands like in the tales of the Holy Scripture.

Merlin looked at it and came to an immediate conclusion, grounded in the itch he felt under his skin. This wasn't natural. The source of this storm was magic and it was powerful magic. He had his answer for what had woken him and he hoped that it had been conjured with good intentions.

_.oOo._

Many people in the city of Camelot were stirred from their sleep by the rain, dumbfounded at the sheer quantity of water which was pounding on their windows and rooftops. It flowed through the street like a river, washing away anything and everything in its path. However one person besides Merlin had awoken before the first drop fell.

On the other side of the castle Morgana was sitting in her bed, arms wrapped around her knees and her pale face shiny with a thin layer of perspiration. She had awoken from another dream; a nightmare.

It had been terrifying. In it she had seen one of the princes; she hadn't been able to determine if it was Arthur or Harry, just able to recognize the shape of his face and the blond hair that fell into the man's eyes.

He was fighting. Sword brandished, swishing through the air, cleaving it with proficiency before it rang as it met the blade of an enemy. The Prince swirled around, engaging another man.

It was dark and rain was falling, dying flames lit up the scene and lightning lit everything up at steady intervals. Morgana was struggling to see what was happening, on some level she had known that it was a dream, but it felt like she was there, watching it as it happened.

The image flickered, the scene changing. It was still raining, but the fires had died out and it was even harder to see what was going on. The enemies seemed to have disappeared and the Prince walked over to a man lying on the ground. He bent down grabbing the man's hand.

Then out of nowhere steel shone, light reflecting of a blade, the Prince turned around, surprise and fear shining in eyes of undecided colour. Everything turned red; the colour of blood and Morgana had woken up, not knowing what had happened next.

"It's just a dream," she murmured. Taking comfort in hearing her own voice, thinking that the sound of something close, something real would chase away the lingering terror. "It's nothing," she said her voice gaining in strength. "Arthur lies safely in his bed and Harry is… Harry!"

* * *

**End Chapter 7**

* * *

**AN 21th April 2013:**

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, with this you cannot complain that I'm not adding my own plot, that's for sure. To think that something that started only to get Harry from point A to point B turned into a complete adventure of its own. Ah, that's writing for you. I am pleased with it in any case.

For those who are curious _Giefan arosciepe ofost_ literary means, give energy speed. And _Lyfthelm gadrain giefan lagu_ means Clouds gather give water. I've taken it from an old English dictionary I found online, I have no idea how accurate it is, but to me that doesn't matter all that much. If you remember the spell Sirius uses to enter Harry's mind I created it using a few words in Latin, but I added and took away from them, so as you see accuracy isn't all that important to me. If I remember right Néahdún is old English for neighbouring hill and Ǽdre means spring, or little river, that one I feel comfortable with seeing as it is similar to a Swedish word which means the same; ådra.

With that out of the way, I say it again; hope you enjoyed the chapter. Till next time!

PS. I did another cliffhanger, aren't I evil?


	8. Chapter 8

**Two Destinies**

* * *

**Chapter 8**

_Words: 7 082_

* * *

In a room adjacent to the Lady Morgana's chamber her maid was roused as the rain began to fall against the windows, drumming in staccato.

Guinevere stretched in her bed, lavishing in the feeling of the warm blankets and the soft pillows for a few moments, not really awake just yet. It took some time before her mind was clear enough for her to realize why she had woken in the first place.

Once awake she had to wonder how she ever could have slept through the noise to begin with. It was as if someone was throwing stones at her window, rather than it just being rain drops falling onto the glass.

Going back to sleep seemed like it would have been the best idea. She was tired, yawning several times and experiencing how her eyelids wanted to fall shut. She felt like she couldn't have been asleep for long and she wanted to be rested for the following day, but when the thunder rolled above, moaning and groaning through the clouds, she realized that it was a fickle possibility and wasn't likely to happen until the storm blew over and judging by the boom of the thunder that followed shortly after the first one it wasn't likely to happen in a trice.

She decided that she might as well get out of bed. She rose with some reluctance, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders to ward of the chill that was penetrating the castle walls as she walked the short distance to the window, shivering as her bare feet came in contact with the floor.

The ferocity of the weather outside fascinated her somewhat. For it to make all that noise it must be something special.

When Guinevere looked outside all she could see was a thick curtain of rain and mist. An actual waterfall was flowing down the glass, obscuring the view. The drops were falling large and hard against the glass, making patterns in the stream, rivulets cascading over the iron settings around each pane of coloured glass in the same way water moves over the stones in a stream.

The ever changing flow was lit up every now and then as lightning bolts shot through the sky, adding to the intricacy of the pattern as individual drops worked as prism cutting the light and sending it out again coloured like the rainbow.

Seeing all the water made her happy that this was one of her nights in the castle. It also made her think about her father, Tom, who lived in the lower city, in a small house next to his smithy. She hoped that he had, had the time to mend the hole in the roof, or rather that he had taken the time to do so.

He was much too fond of spending all his waking hours creating what he called master pieces that no one was likely to ever buy. If he hadn't made the effort to mend the roof the night would prove to be anything but pleasant for him.

Things were not as bad as they could have been though. Luckily their home was not in the lowest part of the city, so even if the moat was to overflow it wasn't likely to affect them and the smithy had a thick foundation of stone so it would take quite a bit of water before it reached it, though with this rain nothing could be certain.

Her post as the Lady Morgana's maid was what gave Guinevere the privilege to spend some of her nights in the castle. The room was small and modest, much like Guinevere herself. It had all she needed though and it possible to wait on Morgana at any time of day or night were it necessary.

She shivered as a draft made its way in through the window. Suddenly it felt a lot colder.

She expected that Morgana would also be awake by now, not being the most restful sleeper the rain would surely have woken her as it had Guinevere. She guessed that the cold might bother the Lady as well and it would be appropriate to light a fire in Morgana's chambers.

Guinevere got dressed and began to kindle a fire in the grate in her own small room. As she managed to create the first spark a scream penetrated the walls. The shout was chilling and it was the Lady's voice.

Within moments she was at Morgana's side, sitting down on the edge of her bed and placing a calming hand on her shoulder.

"My Lady, are you alright?" she asked softly, but intently. She was somewhat used to Morgana waking up from nightmares, but that did not stop her worrying about the noble woman. The opposite was closer to the truth. Her dreams had been increasing in frequency and intensity as of late, giving good cause for such a reaction.

A jagged lightning bolt lit up the sky; the light penetrated the many windows in Morgana's bedchamber and illuminated the scene in sharp white light for a second. It was enough to show Guinevere how awfully pale Morgana was.

Her skin was white as newly fallen snow and shining with perspiration, her hair was a tangled mess of dark locks and her eyes were haunted, wide and glassy.

"Gwen," Morgana mumbled in a small voice. She did not turn to her maid, she just stared straight ahead; still frightened by the realization she'd just had. "I-I… I saw… I'm not sure what I saw," she mumbled incoherently.

"Was it a nightmare?"

"Yes." Morgana turned her large, scared eyes to Guinevere. "No," she whispered, changing her mind. "No this was no normal dream. I saw… no… I… Harry… he…" Morgana said no more, but she started shaking violently, shivers travelling through her body.

Guinevere frowned, her worry growing and she stroked back Morgana's hair, pushing a lock behind her ear. "Can I do something for you, my Lady?"

"I don't know." Morgana shook her head, dislodging the strand of hair. "Yes," she amended, staring Guinevere squarely in the eye, "get Arthur."

"Prince Arthur?" Guinevere repeated, surprised by the request. It was well known that the two of them weren't close, although it was also widely believed that their animosity hid other feelings, just waiting to bloom out, yet her mistress would sooner have requested Prince Harry's company. Of this Guinevere was certain.

Morgana had always gotten better along with the younger Prince, as they saw eye to eye on many matters and Harry's unfortunate experiences as well as his role as the younger of Uther's sons had made him more humble than his brother. This allowed him to treat Morgana like an equal to some extent, whereas Arthur saw her as just a woman.

And though a woman was to be cherished, consulted and respected, she was not truly an equal to them, all of this showed in how Arthur treated his father's ward.

Harry was an odd one. After the infamous assassination attempt by his manservant Harry had not taken a servant again. For the first six months after the event he had isolated himself, looking after himself and taking care of his own chores. Once he emerged from his solitude some of the habits had lingered. He was the only noble Guinevere knew who had ever cleaned a floor, changed bed sheets, or mended his own clothes.

It was not as if the younger Prince did everything himself, but having the experience of tending to himself had given him a healthy respect for servants many of his fellow nobles lacked.

Guinevere had noticed that Morgana had mentioned Harry's name, perhaps there was a reason for not asking for the younger of the brothers.

"Are you sure?" Guinevere asked, still wondering about the request and questioning the wisdom of it. "Wouldn't it be better if I fetched Gaius if you had a nightmare? He is surely better suited if…"

"No!" Morgana said strongly, interrupting her maid. "I don't need a sleeping draught!" Her eyes roamed, not focusing on anything. "I shan't sleep more tonight. I don't want to see any more. There was so much blood."

Guinevere shivered. The words were chilling. Blood. Morgana had seen … blood. She could understand not wanting to dream about that again, and she supposed that the Lady's first statement was true enough too. Were it not for the nightmare, the storm would surely have woken the Lady and kept her from getting any more rest.

"How about Harry?" she asked, curious about why Morgana hadn't asked for him and she thought the question innocent enough. That was a mistake.

Morgana let out a low whimper, another shiver running through her body. "He is not here. He's… he… the blood… Gwen, I need to see Arthur." Morgana grabbed Guinevere's hand in a sudden motion, making the maid recoil slightly.

The Lady's hand was clammy and clod, but the grip was strong, nails digging into the flesh of Guinevere's hand, it hurt but that was nothing compared to the hurt showing in Morgana's face.

"Please, Gwen, do anything to get him here," she asked, her voice hitching.

"If you are sure?"

"Please. I just need to see him."

"Of course, milady."

"I need to know what's real." The last words were barely a whisper and Guinevere felt that she wasn't supposed to have heard them. She got up, curtsied and hurried out of Morgana's room, walking down the corridor towards the closest staircase. The two Princes rooms were one floor up from the Lady's.

The corridors were dark and the sound of the thunder echoed through the structure of the castle, vibrating through the stone so that you could feel it in your bones. It was strange, but Guinevere's main concern was Morgana.

A few people were up and about, the weather having stirred almost everyone.

"This weather is strange," she heard a knight say as she passed.

"Indeed," his companion answered. "I've heard that the moat is already about to overflow."

"That can't be!" the first exclaimed. "We've had a drought; there was barely any water in it when I passed this afternoon!"

"Well, I don't know, but it is really pouring down outside."

Gwen came upon Arthur's door, glad that she knew which chamber was his and which was Harry's. Just as with the Princes themselves it was difficult to tell which room belonged to whom as they were located side by side and the décor inside was nearly identical, with carved wooden furniture and deep red drapes by the windows and hanging around their beds.

She drew a deep breath, steeling herself and strictly telling herself that she had nothing to be worried about before she knocked strongly, knowing that she couldn't be gentle if she wanted to be heard above the thunder and rain.

"Just a moment!" she head Arthur's voice say through the wood and half a minute later the door was jerked open, revealing the Prince standing there in just a pair of sleeping pants. Guinevere blushed as she came face to chest with Arthur. She looked away, but she had already seen his broad, well defined chest that held a light trickling of hair.

"Guinevere?" surprise coloured Arthur's tone. He looked awake so Guinevere supposed he must have been roused by the weather as well. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "Is something the matter? Have something happened to you?"

Gwen could feel her blush deepening as she took in his worry over her and she was thankful for the darkness. She drew in another breath to steady herself and began to speak in a slightly too loud voice. "No, I am fine, my Lord. I'm here on the request of the Lady Morgana, sire. She requires your presence."

"Morgana asked for me?"

"Yes, my Lord."

Arthur frowned, crossing his arms across his chest, drawing Guinevere's gaze there once more, though she snapped her eyes up to his face as soon as she realized it.

"Why would Morgana want me to come to her in the middle of the night? If she had a nightmare she should send for Gaius."

"I do not know, sire. She was insistent that I'd fetch you. She seemed to be truly upset. She mentioned your brother a few times."

"Harry?"

Guinevere nodded and jumped a little as another deafening boom sounded through the sky. "Yes, and when I asked if she'd rather not I fetch your brother she got worse. She also mentioned dreaming about…"

"Yes?" Arthur inquired when Guinevere left the sentence unfinished.

"Blood."

"Very well then," Arthur said. "I still think you ought to summon Gaius. If Morgana is as upset as you say she'll need to calm down and one of his drafts should help with that."

"I suggested the same, but she insisted that she did not wish to sleep."

"Morgana," the Prince sighed her name. "Too stubborn for her own good, just like another person I know."

"Sire?"

"Never mind that. I believe we should consult Gaius in any case. Please go find him."

"Of course, sire." Gwen curtsied and was on her way.

_.oOo._

Arthur hurriedly pulled on a shirt and a pair of boots. The night was cold and his incompetent servant, Morris, had refrained from lighting a fire. The fool apparently wished that his master would catch a cold as to relieve him from some of his duties if only for a few days.

Arthur mumbled a couple of curses about imbeciles who did not have the capabilities to compare with a mule. How his brother could have desisted form employing a servant was beyond him and at the same time, if all of them were as stupid as the ones he always managed to locate perhaps there really wasn't any point of having them around. Though he knew not all were like that. Guinevere wasn't.

He located a jacket to wear and strapped a sword to his belt before he departed from his rooms. He walked in long strides, the sound of leather against stone drowned by the thunder. The storm seemed to be growing stronger.

He took the stairs two at a time and almost ran into a soaking wet sir Osric.

"Arthur!" the man said, stumbling to a stop.

Osric and his brother Edric were some of his and Harry's closest friends, having been sent to Camelot at a young age to train to be knights. They were the two youngest brothers of five and so they hadn't been needed at their father's estates. Arthur remembered that Edric had ridden out with Harry.

"Osric," Arthur nodded, recoiling a bit as a spray of cold drops came in contact with his skin. "The weather is as bad as it seems from inside I see," he commented, glancing pointedly at Osric's drenched cloak.

The knight shook his head, water flying through the air. "No, it's worse. The streets are covered with water and the lower city, as well as the moats are flooded. Before I headed inside we were trying to stop the flow from reaching the food cellars, but it is a battle we will loose shortly unless the rain lets up, and it hasn't even rained an hour yet."

Arthur frowned. "Can the storages be moved?"

"Not easily. The main doors lead outside, and you can see why bringing the provisions that way would be a bad idea. I've ordered a few men to pull up what they can through the ceiling. There is a trapdoor to the kitchen storage. It's a small space and the supplies will have to be moved to some other part of the castle if we are to have room. For this to be possible we need more men."

"Has my father been told?"

"Yes. He ordered that we keep doing what we have been so far. Until morning it's the best we can hope to accomplish. Clearer instructions will have to wait until daylight, and we won't know for sure how bad things are until the rain stops. He also said that he would like to se you first thing in the morning."

Arthur nodded. "I see."

Even though they were in a winding staircase, without any windows, the sharp light of a lightning bolt filled their visions and a fraction of a moment later a deafening boom sounded through the sky.

"There is something wrong about this," the Prince muttered. "I cannot recall a storm like this occurring at this time of year."

"Neither can I." Osric shrugged his shoulders. "I do not envy our brothers. I am drenched, but in a moment I will be able to peel of my wet clothes and crawl under the covers of my bed. They don't have that option."

"True," Arthur said, though there was some reluctance in his tone. After what Guinevere has said about Morgana's dream he had been thinking about his brother. It was supposed to just be a patrol, a scouting mission. He hoped to God that it had stayed that way and that the rain was the only hindrance the party encountered.

"Well, I'm off to bed. I've been on patrol since this afternoon. I suggest that you try to get what sleep you can yourself." Osric smiled wryly. "However I suspect that it will not be much as long as the thunder keeps this up. We must try though; the morning will bring work. That much I know."

"Indeed. Good night, Osric."

"Good night, Arthur."

Osric continued up the stairs and Arthur ventured further down. He didn't bother knocking when he got to Morgana's chamber, he just strode right in. "Morgana?" ha called. "Guinevere said that you asked me to come."

"Harry?" Morgana whispered. Her tone was confused as if she wasn't certain who he was.

"No. I'm Arthur. Harry is away on patrol. Do you remember that I told you this?" Arthur got closer to her bed and looked down on her. She was sitting up in her bed, still in the same position as when Guinevere had left her. She had her arms wrapped around her legs and her dark hair hung like a curtain on either side of her face, which retained its deathly pale colour.

When Arthur could see her more clearly he got truly worried. "Morgana are you alright? What's the matter?" he asked, kneeling down by her bedside.

She did not answer.

"Morgana?"

The woman made a sudden motion. Suddenly she was clutching at Arthur's jacket, her hands finding their way up to his face. She held his head steady, staring into his eyes.

"Blue," she whispered and did another sudden motion, burying her head in his chest.

Stunned, the Prince was motionless for a moment, then he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, rocking her softly back and forth.

"Arthur," she mumbled, the sound muffled as she kept her head buried against him.

"Yes, I'm here it's alright," he said soothingly, relieved that she had understood who he was, if she needed to look him in the eyes to be certain then that was alright. It was no more than what everyone resorted to doing.

Arthur did not know what to do. He had never seen Morgana like this. She was always so strong. He knew that she suffered from nightmares, but this was the first time he had been confronted with it.

He felt rather uneasy, as she sobbed in his arms. Yet he knew what to do as he had experience with Harry behaving the same way, having dealt with his brother's nightmares for years.

He knew that the panic and fear from the dreams could linger for a long time, but eventually the dream gave way for reality, and while that happened all that was needed was for him to be strong, to be there as an anchor.

Morgana lifted her head and looked at Arthur with tears in her eyes. "I saw Harry."

Arthur could feel how his brows drew together in a frown. "Do you mean that he is back, or that you dreamed about him?"

"Neither," she said heatedly. "I was asleep, yes, but it wasn't a dream. It couldn't have been. He, for it must have been him, with you being right here..."

"Tell me what you saw."

"He was fighting. It was raining like now. I could see fires and dead bodies in the dark. He slew anyone who got in his way, but then it changed. The battle was over. He was looking for something, stumbling through the remains of a village. He found who he was looking for. He was on the ground. Then out of nowhere someone attacked. Light glinted on a blade."

"What happened next?"

"I don't know. I saw no more, only red."

"You mean that you woke up?"

"Yes. No!" Morgana drew from Arthur's lose embrace, starring angrily at him. "Do not place words in my mouth!"

"Morgana you had a bad dream." The blond man sighed. "You are simply worried about Harry that is all, and it rained in your dream because it is raining outside."

"But I woke up before it started," Morgana protested.

"That…" Arthur did not know what to say about that.

"You see?" the Lady said, a small sign of triumph in her voice.

"It could simply have been a coincidence," he suggested feebly.

"You do not believe that. Not really. There is something in the air. Can you feel it? A charge."

Arthur could feel it, but he thought nothing of it. "There's a lightning storm outside. Of course there is a charge in the air."

"No, that is not it. You will not admit it, but something is going on and what I saw, it was real."

"Morgana…"

"I know what I saw!"

_.oOo._

"Gaius!"

Merlin was startled as he heard a woman's voice calling Gaius' name. He had latched the windows shut when the rain had started to fall even harder and threatened to make his room as wet as the outdoors, but he had remained standing by it, looking out and contemplating the magic he could feel in the air. He had no good explanation for it and he had never felt anything like it before. It troubled him greatly as well as intrigued him.

He went out of his small room and down to the main chamber in time to see Gaius getting out of bed as a young woman with dark, curly hair and a shawl wrapped around her shoulders walked inside.

"Guinevere? What are you doing here at this hour?" Gaius asked, clearly recognizing her.

"It's Morgana," the woman said. "She's had another nightmare. She was really upset and I don't think she was thinking clearly. She asked me to get Arthur and when I did, he asked me to get you. Though she may not want your help I think she needs it."

"Of course, I'll prepare another sleeping draught for her. Do you know if she took one before going to sleep?"

"She did, as she always does."

"I see. She seems to be growing immune to them. I'll have to think up another and give it to her for some time. Then we should be able to switch back and regain the same efficiency." Gaius spoke for himself as he rummaged through a shelf with small bottles and bundles of dry herbs.

He plucked a small glass bottle with dark liquid, a couple of jars and an additional empty bottle and placed them down on his work table. As he did this he caught sight of Merlin.

"Ah! Merlin," he said. "You're up and about I see. Then you wouldn't mind helping me out. Get me that bucket of water from over there." Gaius pointed to a bucket standing on another table.

Merlin quickly followed the orders as he cast a few glances at the woman. From what he could see she was pretty. Her skin was dark, her hair and eyes the same, her face looked kind and as if there was a smile on her lips most of the time. Though at the moment she did not smile, she seemed to be worried about this Morgana.

Merlin put the bucket down next to Gaius and hovered by the older man's side, waiting to see if he wanted help with anything else.

As Merlin and Guinevere waited in silence Gaius worked with nimble fingers, his speed and control belittling his age. He dipped the empty bottle in the water bucket, filling it up about a quarter, next the opened one of the jars. Inside was a fine gray powder and he added two pinches, plugging the opening of the bottle with his finger and shaking.

"Merlin, I need some belladonna, see if you can find it. It should be on the top shelf."

Soundlessly, Merlin walked over to the shelf, perusing the labels on the small bottles. It was hard to see, for they had not bothered to light any candles, but he found it without any trouble and brought it back to Gaius, who continued to work on the remedy.

Soon he gave a little noise of success. "There we go," he said. "This should help Morgana calm down, though it will not put her to sleep. I dare not give her another sleeping draught if she's taken her usual one already. I'll come with you Gwen."

"I think we'd better hurry. She was truly distraught."

"Then we shall." Gaius walked towards the door, the small bottle in a secure grip. "Oh, and Merlin," he said turning around. "Please light a fire before you go back to bed, and we'll talk more in the morning." With that they were gone and Merlin was left alone to contemplate the storm again.

_.oOo._

Harry sagged with relief as the last man he had been fighting went down, the body limp and the head rolling a few feet when it hit the ground. Harry had beheaded him in with single powerful swing of his sword the moment he got an opening.

Taking a life shouldn't be so easy. Yet it was. The human body while capable of so much, was strangely fragile. A punctured lung, a slit throat, a blow to the head, all of them could kill a man. And time claimed everyone.

Harry sighed, feeling hollow. It was far from the first time he had killed another human being. The first time had been shortly after he had been given his knighthood. At age sixteen he had been out on a patrol and they had faced a group of bandits. The men had been disorganized and there hadn't truly been any need to kill them then and there, but Harry had miscalculated the angle he was striking at.

He had planned to hit the man with the broadside of his sword, simply wanting to knock him out. He had struck and before he could redirect the blow, the sharp edge of his sword had pierced the man's skull, splitting the bone like one would split a log to make it into fire wood. The scull cracked, allowing grey brain matter to leak out in a slow trickle which mixed with blood at Harry's feet.

He had felt faint at the sight. The smell was overpowering, triggering his gag reflex. The worst came after though. The memory plagued his conscious thoughts and his vulnerable sleeping mind. He witnessed the man dying over and over in his dreams. Re-experiencing how the light went out in his eyes, knowing that it had happened because of him. And the image mixed with his usual dreams of green light, making it even worse.

It made no difference when he later learned that the man had been wielding a poisoned dagger which with just a scratch would take a man's life. Harry was still responsible; he had still robbed a man of his life.

The harsh lesson he learned nonetheless, was that it was all right to feel bad afterwards, but on the battlefield you can not afford to have any reservations. In the heat of battle you had two choices; you kill or you end up with a sword through your chest. Showing mercy is begging to be sent to your grave.

He was a knight and as a knight it was expected of him to take lives in defence of his home. He did it for a good cause. He did it so that his people wouldn't have to suffer. He had sworn an oath to protect the innocent and uphold the law. It was nothing more and nothing less than his duty as Prince of Camelot.

He may not enjoy killing, but he would when he had to and he would not hesitate to strike. His aversion for death made him fight even more diligently to make sure that justice was served. He wanted to protect what lives he could. Sometimes that meant some men had to die. Like today.

Now the battle was over. Dead bodies lay strewn by his feet. He could imagine all the blood, but he could not see it though the darkness, and the rain was washing it away, making sure that any evidence would be cleared as if the slaughter had never happened.

Harry winced as the adrenaline drained from his veins, leaving him able to feel the wounds he had sustained during the battle.

He had a gash in his thigh where his legs were unprotected by his chainmail. Now that he felt the pain more acutely it made him limp. He hoped that it hadn't made any permanent damage.

A limp would be restricting and although Harry never would let something like that stop him, it would be most inconvenient. He thought he would be fine eventually, judging by the fact that the wound had stopped bleeding after only a short time, now only throbbing with every heart beat and sending pain racing through his leg as he put his full weight on the limb.

Besides the cut to his leg Harry knew that his back and arms would be blossoming with multicoloured bruises. He ached all over, but it was only to be expected. Fighting, even practising, was a hazard on your body, and it could have been much worse. Bruises were not fatal after all, just painful. If his armour hadn't blunted the majority of the attacks he would have been far worse off.

Under the throbbing of the bruises lay the duller ache of his exhausted body. His muscles had been overworked and he was tired from having been on his feet since early the previous morning.

You could build your muscles, enhance your endurance, work up the amount of pain you could take and still carry on, but it wasn't enough to keep the body from making its protests heard and Harry knew that he would not be able to maintain the pace needed to stay alive in a fight for much longer.

The worst danger he had been in was when some of the men on the enemy side had backed off unexpectedly and let loose a rain of arrows. Once more he had been extremely lucky, only getting hit in the shoulder. If the arrow had struck only a handbreadth to the right it would have pierced his heart. As it was the arrowhead remained in the wound as he hadn't had the time nor did he posses the skill to draw it out. Harry had simply broken off the shaft so that it wouldn't restrict his movements.

Edric had not been as lucky. He too had been caught in the rain of arrows. Harry had seen him get hit several times, his torso pierced by the projectiles. His friend had fallen to the ground, not getting up again.

He didn't know what had happened to Edric next as he had been swarmed by enemies once more and when he'd fought off that bought of attackers he could no longer see the knight's fallen body through the oppressing rain and darkness.

He was worried about his friend and his other fellow knights. He hadn't seen them for some time now. They had been separated early on.

The forces they had been facing were overwhelming. Harry had estimated that there were at least forty men still in Ǽdre, and there were signs pointing to there having been more who had already moved on.

However their number was their greatest strength. These men wearing the colours of Cenred were not skilled in close combat. Fighting up close, sword to sword was not their forte. Even less did they appear to know how to go about facing an opponent on horseback.

The four knights kept a tight formation to begin with; utilizing the advantage they had by being on horseback to the fullest. They had veered in and out, making them hard to target, using the bulk of the chargers to force the attackers back and whirling around to make surprise assaults while only risking little exposure.

Harry remembered seeing Geraint riding one man down, the enemy-solider getting trampled under the hooves of the charger. That was a rather gruesome way to go, though Harry couldn't say that one death was worse than another, as long as it happened fast it would have to be considered a good death. It was being alive and in pain that was the worst part.

Eventually though, those left standing had realized that they did not stand a chance if they allowed the knights to press their advantage anymore, and instead of trying to kill the armoured men they had struck at the horses.

This was a tactic that worked for the men of Essetir. The knights had been unable to keep their horses alive, not having expected the change in target and once they understood what was going on it was too late.

His own horse had been amazing, never hesitating, never veering from the path Harry sat him on. The steed had been as good a charger as you could expect until the end when its legs buckled under him, and the black stallion could rise no more.

Edric's horse had met a similar end, while Bertrand's mare had reared throwing off her rider and then she had bolted into the night.

Harry had been determined not to let the loss of their horses stop them. He had ordered his knights to take formation. Back to back they had faced the never ending mass of attackers.

Once more the raiders eventually understood that they had to undermine the strength the knights relied on. This time it was unity and so all of their efforts turned to splitting them up, knowing that they could be taken out when on their own. Even the most skilled of swordsmen would be overwhelmed by a large enough number.

Some of them had backed off and taken aim with their bows. Flaming arrows of the same kind as the ones responsible for setting the two villages on fire rained down over them. They had seen the flying projectiles in time, but it had just as planned forced them to separate and in the darkness they had not been bale to gather again.

Harry had tried to yell orders, but it had been useless as he couldn't hear his own voice over the din of battle and the roaring of the thunder. And if any of his fellow knights have heard him they had not been able to respond.

Harry was walking through the remains of Ǽdre looking for Edric, Geraint and Bertrand. He searched, walking across the battlefield which had ended up being a slope, tilting down towards the small river which the village was named after. He looked around with an increasing desperation, trying to spot red cloaks which would let him know that the fallen body was one of his friends.

He brushed his soaking wet hair out of his eyes as he limped on. It was hard to see. The rain was still falling, though not with as much ferocity as in the beginning and he hadn't heard any thunder for some time now.

The flames had been quenched and darkness was all around him. He could not see any more of the men from Essetir; neither could he hear anything other than the rain. It appeared as if the battle truly was over.

He had feared that more men lingered, that it was only the ones assaulting him who have had been dealt with. Now he began to hope that the others had been as successful as him, managing to slay or fend of the attackers despite their overwhelming number.

He stumbled as the ground gave way under him, the top soil sliding down the slippery slope and taking him with it. He grunted as he once more got to his feet, the ache in his shoulder increasing. The arrowhead needed to be removed, unless he was to get blood-poisoning.

He would have used magic, to bolster himself, but he was too tired to try any spells, and his knowledge in healing magic was limited at best. Harry wanted nothing more than to soak in a hot bath and fall into a clean bed and sleep for days. Sadly that was not something he would be able to indulge in for a long time yet.

He looked around again, spotting a banner on the ground. A pale green field, with a crest in the shape of a shield, the background was gray and a black snake was embroidered upon it.

He couldn't understand it. Cenred and his father had worked so hard to come to an accord. So why would King Cenred break it? And for what? There was no good reason what so ever that he could see. It was strange.

Cenred had seemed just as eager for peace as Camelot had been. The warrior King may not have made it secret that he wished to rule Camelot as well as Essetir, but the man was no fool and he knew that he was not strong enough to conquer them. He knew that war would only bring losses to both parties. It didn't make sense.

Harry had made his way up the slope and was walking through the village. The fire hadn't had as much time to spread here as it had in Néahdún. Some buildings would be salvageable; a few had barely been touched by the flames at all. It was a good thing. The people of the two villages would have some refuge, some supplies, and hopefully also some provisions. It would make the recovery smoother.

The Prince bent down by one of the fallen men. He wore the colours of Essetir. The armour underneath was light. He had a bow strapped to his shoulder and an empty quiver. He was a bowman, not a knight. Their tactic has shown that they were skilled with bows as well as with stealth and subterfuge.

They must have been planning these attacks for some time, and their skill showed in that there had not been much of a warning. Only vague rumours had preceded them, nothing concrete and once they attacked it had been efficient.

Harry found a dagger at the fallen man's belt. It was a fine blade; simple but sharp as a razor with a well worn grip. A weapon that had been well cared for, loved.

Harry sighed. How many of these men had come here simply because they were commanded to? How many of them had left widows and children behind? Too many.

Harry jerked up. He thought he saw a shadow moving in the corner of his eye, but when he looked there he couldn't see anything, just a smouldering log and some broken glass. He shook his head, wondering if he was imagining things. It would be no surprise after such a long, hard day.

He let go of the dagger and got back to his feet, limping on through the village, his gaze roving.

He gasped. There! A red cloak. He hurried towards it. A man sat slumped by a wall, head lowered towards his chest. It was Edric.

Harry fell to his knees by the knight's side. Edric's eyes were closed; several arrows were embedded in his chest. Blood stained the chainmail and the long red cloak was torn.

"Edric." Harry's voice was rough, and he did not recognize it, but that didn't matter.

Edric did not answer, did not stir. He must have crawled all the way here after the arrows fell.

"Edric," Harry tried again. The man was still, too still. "Don't be dead," he whispered. "Please don't be dead."

He pulled off his leather glove with his teeth and reached forward, placing his fingers on the man's throat, trying to find a pulse. Nothing.

Harry felt the last of his energy drain. His eyes began to burn, but he fought off the tears. Crying would do him no good.

He combed his fingers through Edric's curly hair, stroking it away from his face. He looked peaceful, as if simply closing his eyes to rest for a bit.

It was a deception. Death wasn't peaceful. It was a mockery to those left living. Death was always there, looming just beyond your view, laughing at you as you tried to ward it off.

Harry could not stop himself from sobbing, a couple of tears escaping his eyes. Edric had been his friend for so long. More than eight years. They had grown up together and now he was gone. It was surreal, more so than anything else that had happened this day.

He took Edric's hand, holding it close to his chest and he closed his eyes. The rain fell on them, drenching them with more cold water, but Harry couldn't feel it anymore. He just felt the cold radiating from within, from the empty space where his friend had been.

Harry exhaled slowly, squaring his shoulders and opening his eyes. Then he saw something, which shouldn't be possible. Edric's eyes were open, and in them the light of a blade was reflected. He swirled around and saw a man, his arm raised, a blade ready to strike in his hand. Undiluted fear passed through Harry as he got ready to face what was likely to be his end.

* * *

**End Chapter 8**

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**AN 12th June 2013:**

Please don't hurt me! I don't mean to end chapters this way! It just happens! I swear!

Anyway, there we go! Another chapter done! It took some time, but that's how it is, real life has its demands, but I'm back and I've got a whole summer ahead of me with no large plans to interfere with my writing.

I do hope you enjoyed the chapter and that it lived up to the hype. I can scarcely believe the response I've received since I uploaded chapter 7. I think I've gotten about 90 reviews since then, which is completely insane. Thank you!

I feel like this chapter was a bit slow, despite there being a lot going on. It is also the longest chapter of the story so far. Ah well. Let me know what you think.

I'll keep writing. Things are getting rather exiting after all and they will be fun to put down in words.

Thanks to ihategoodbyes for beta reading. Not as many mistakes as in the beginning, huh?

Till next time!


	9. Chapter 9

**Two Destinies**

* * *

**Chapter 9**

_Words: 5 467_

* * *

Leofric and Brain had been organizing the evacuation of the people of Néahdún. It was not easy as many of the villagers were injured and most were distraught by the night's events. It wasn't surprising considering that they were women, children and the elderly. They were regular farmers and men of simple trades, none of which were prepared for a situation like this. The people of Néahdún were accustomed to a simple, peaceful life where raids, fires and death were scarcely heard of even in tales.

Now it had become a reality they weren't ready for even after living in fear for of this happening for some time, as rumours of demons or the like and men with malicious intent circulated the area.

When the rain began to fall, things at once got both easier and more difficult with the evacuation. The people became more eager to reach the forest and receive the shelter that the woods could provide; this bolstered their speed as they gathered the last of their strength to push forth. At the same time the weather made the way through the hills more traitorous. The ground quickly turned to mud, making the path slippery with slick grass and accumulations of water.

The rain also made it hard to see where they were going, and if it weren't for the two scouts, riding back and forth all the while; scouting ahead and keeping the direction right, it was likely that the villages would have strayed from their path and ended up reaching the forest farther to the north than what was intended.

There, to the north, the forest edge started atop a steep cliff edge and they wouldn't have been able to scale it in order to seek shelter under the trees, instead they would have been forced to choose between covering against the rock face and walking a long way back.

The spot where the villagers made camp was as the Prince had suggested the same one as where the company from Camelot had rested for the night. The area was good with the lake close by, but with the actual camp on a height above the water, so they did not risk the water flooding them during the night and trees gave some protection against the rain.

Some worried that the trees would make likely target for lightning, threatening to start a fire or hit one of them. Their worry was soon put aside as others reassured them by saying that the trees here by the forest edge weren't as tall as the ones farther into the wood, and lighting would always seek the shortest path from the heavens to the ground, therefore they should be relatively safe.

Leofric assisted the refugees in starting a few fires, knowing how to light damp wood even in pouring rain; it was not easy though it was doable. He spoke with the unofficial leader, a brusque man named Oswald a few times, coordinating the set up of the encampment and he made sure that Brain always had something to do; knowing that letting the boy get restless would breed trouble or end up with him falling asleep. Neither option was a good one. He barked orders also when the lad began to sack with fatigue, stumbling as he went about the campsite.

Once everyone was safely arrived at the chosen location and everything was setup there wasn't much for Leofric or Brain to do, except trying remain vigilant, looking out for any approaching dangers.

Leofric actually allowed Brain to get some sleep. As there was nothing for them to do it was better if the boy could gather his strength at a time when things were quite compared to having him collapse because he was too tired later on. Nevertheless the situation frustrated the older scout tremendously.

Every now and then he mounted his horse and rode out a few paces, he needed to do _something. _ Leofric looked out from a fairly high hill not far from the rand of the woods, trying to see what was happening in Ǽdre.

He had sharp eyes that thankfully had remained unaffected by his advancing age, but in this weather even that wasn't enough. He could not tell what events might be passing. All he knew was that the fires had died out as time progressed, making the dim orange glow by the horizon weaken bit by bit.

Eventually he grew tired of waiting. He had his orders. He knew that should be able to follow them. He was a seasoned scout, having been forced to sit around and wait for days at a time, however his lack of patience had always been his greatest flaw and additionally he knew that a man had to be able to think for himself.

The order which had been given was based on a certain situation. Over time things would change, leading to other decision being better. A good scout, a good knight, or a good soldier knew when it was right to follow orders and when you had to depend on your own wits.

To be able to tell if his orders were still valid he needed information and simply watching an orange haze did not cut it.

He may be getting on in age, not being able to sit in the saddle of a horse for as many hours without paying for it as he'd had in his youth, but he truly, deeply despised being idle.

He was a scout for a reason, and that reason wasn't solely to put food on the table by doing something he was good at. It was true that he was good at moving quietly, good at finding signs of a man's passing that others would overlook and good at reading the forest. However what made him a good scout was that he preferred to work alone, always moving. Some men weren't cut out for that, becoming nervous and restless unless they constantly had people around them. Leofric wasn't cut out for being still. It made him itchy, it made him feel like there was a large target painted on his back and that was not a feeling he enjoyed. At the moment he felt like the target was growing larger by the minute.

His anxiety was spurred by the knowledge that there was nothing he or his nephew would be able to do if they were attacked. Brain was young and had only been chosen to accompany them on this mission because it was expected to be quiet.

He, as a senior member of the scouts who volunteered as he knew the area fairly well, had decided that his nephew could use this opportunity to gain some experience and see how it was to follow under Prince Harry, he had not expected the experience to be quite this gruesome.

Brain had only seen sixteen summers and the lad had lived a rather sheltered life. He had seen to it as the boy's only living relative.

Brain had potential, but his skills were raw, and Leofric couldn't help but wonder if seeing this destruction would damage the boy even more than witnessing his mother's death at the hands of the druids had.

His sister had not deserved a death like that, but it had been wartime, though it was not called such, and innocent people were always the ones who suffered the most during dark times like that.

His sister had been unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, she and the boy getting captured as she was out in the forest gathering herbs which could be sold to a good price in the market.

The druids were generally good people, but Uther's never ending witch-hunt had made them desperate, though thankfully not desperate enough to kill a five-year-old boy.

Leofric knew that the event had left scars in his nephew's psyche, which showed in how he had addressed the Prince earlier when magic was mentioned. Hopefully time would help to heal the wounds as experience taught him to see in more colours than black and white. And God willing, time would also mellow his fiery temper.

Leofric scratched his chin, feeling the stubble that was growing there, and how some flakes of skin got caught under his nails. He exhaled, and demounted his horse, tying the rains to a tree branch of appropriate height. His last little recognizance had been as fruitless as all the previous ones.

He walked silently though the camp, watching the people as he made his way towards the spot where he had left Brain. Families huddled together under damp blankets. Mothers did their best the soothe their crying children and men stood in tightly knit groups, their expressions bitter as they discussed what had happened, what was to come in the future and how they were going to recover and rebuilt as well as if they could truly count on Camelot coming to their aid.

He found the lad, resting against a tree near one of the fire pits. He was huddled in on himself under his cloak which he was using as a makeshift blanket, still he was shivering slightly in his sleep and his brow was furrowed showing that his rest was far from peaceful.

"Brain," Leofric said lowly, grabbing the sleeping boy's shoulder and giving it a firm shake.

"Huh? Wha'?" Brains said drowsily, rubbing at his eyes. "Uncle Leofric?"

"Time to wake up. I need you to keep an eye on things here. I am planning to scout ahead."

"What?"

Leofric took pity on the boy and slowed down, allowing him to stretch his limbs, scrunch up his nose when a drop fell on it and generally wake up before he continued speaking.

"We need to know what is happening, and scouting as I have done so far is not good enough."

The youngling frowned. "But, Uncle, we were told to watch over these people. Shouldn't we do that?"

"Indeed, that is why I told you to stay here."

"You plan to ride out alone? What if something happens?"

"You are not alone here, you'll be fine."

Brain snorted in frustration. "That is not what I meant, uncle! I know that you'll be in more danger than I."

"I am not completely helpless, son."

"But…"

"Hush, Brain, I know. Danger is a risk we always face, it is better you learn this now so that it doesn't come as a surprise later. What is always true however is that it is better to risk the life of one man if it will give you a clear view of the enemy, when the alternative is the whole group being sitting ducks, just waiting to be plucked from their nests."

Brain shook his head in fond exasperation. "Always the proverbs."

"Always," Leofric agreed, smiling slightly. "There is help to be found in old tales and sayings if you just look closely."

"Right, right," Brain said, in the indulging way of the young uses with the old. "Just promise me you'll be back to pester me with more of them."

"I can only promise you that I'll try, but I do not make promises if I am not sure I will be able to keep them."

"But," Brain was beginning to get truly upset, "if you can't be sure you'll come back, why would you ride out?"

"I do it because it's the right thing to do. The knights' lives might depend on me, our prince's life might depend on what men like you and I choose to do."

"Are they worth dying for?" Brian scoffed. "They're just nobles! Why are you willing to give up your life for men who were lucky about which mother they were born to?"

Leofric gave his nephew a levelled stare. "Do you hate nobles as well as people with magic now?"

"I… " Brain didn't know what to say, he was frustrated, and tired and he just wanted his uncle to be safe.

"Ah," the older scout exhaled and forced himself to smile. "It's not just that, lad. These men are knights; men who have sworn an oath, men who live with honour and dedicate their lives to keep the people of the lands safe. It is true that they were born into their station, but they were free to choose within it and they have chosen this life. That is to be respected and honoured. Each man has his part to play. A man is worth respecting if he does the best with the lot he has been given, and I believe I can say that about the four men we rode out with last morning. Wouldn't you agree?"

The young scout shook his head. "I-I don't know. I don't know them well enough to say."

Leofric, nodded, giving Brain a genuine smile. "Wise words. You're making me proud. It is right that you shouldn't judge before you know. There are more senses to listen to though than your mind. What does your heart tell you?"

"Uncle, why are you speaking like this? You think something will happen, do you not?"

"No, no. I say it simply because you need to hear it. Now, answer; what does your heart tell you? Are the knights we travelled with today men worthy of our respect?"

"I-I…" Brain hesitated. He clenched his teeth as he though. "Yes, I believe they are," he said at last.

"Good." Leofric grabbed his nephew's shoulder again, giving it a firm squeeze. "Keep your eyes peeled. I'll return when I can."

"Good luck," Brain murmured. The youngling bit his lip, looking like he was struggling with indecision. He then abruptly hugged his uncle. "Be careful," he whispered into the older man's ear, squeezing tighter and inhaling the smell of his uncle; the smell of comfort and home.

"Good bye, Brain." Leofric gently dislodged his nephew's arms and walked back the same way he'd come.

The camp had become quiet as more of the refugees succumbed to sleep. The sudden storm, which had been both a blessing and a curse, had calmed until it was only an annoying drizzle. Though it had made the evacuation more difficult and obscured his ability to see, Leofric preferred it to the alternative of a raging forest fire which wouldn't have been unlikely considering the drought.

The scout patted the horse's neck as he untied the reins and made to sit up. It would take some time for him to reach the second village, especially if he was to search through Néahdún first.

He supposed it couldn't be helped though. He knew what he needed to do and the best he could was only to do it as swiftly as possible. Leofric commands his horse into a quick canter and silently they ride over the hills in the direction of the village.

Néahdún was only a ruin. Some of the logs that were once houses were smouldering quietly, embers sizzling as they got hit by rain. The air was thick with the smell of burning wood; coal and damp grass mingling to form a strange, unpleasant perfume.

He sat down from his horse and walked carefully through the skeletal village. He knew that he needed to hurry. His gaze travelled over the remains, searching for something that would stand out as out of place.

At the outskirts of the village he caught eye of something and hurried over. He groaned slightly as he bent down, his back hurting in protest at the sudden movement. Leofric just grit his teeth together and ignored the pain, concentrating on the ground.

Soil, grass and sand were familiar and right against the tips of his fingers, but he did not give up, he knew that he'd seen something and then he could feel it; an oily substance, dark even in the night.

He rubbed his fingers together and brought them up to his mouth, touching the substance to his tongue. Pitch. He spat to rid himself of the taste and cleaned his fingers on a patch of grass.

"Like ghosts in the night indeed," he muttered with a shake of his head. These _ghosts_ must have rigged the village before they launched the attack. No wonder the fires had spread so rapidly with pitch to fuel the flames.

With this new information Leofric got worried. The ones responsible were professionals. They weren't regular bandits out for pillaging and plundering to benefit from the labour of hardworking innocent people. As far as he could tell destruction had been their only purpose and he couldn't fathom why they would want that. There was nothing to gain from plain destruction.

Reckoning that he'd done all he could in Néahdún, Leofric mounted his horse again and rode off towards Ǽdre.

The night was waning and he suspected that it wasn't all that long before dawn would be upon them. Hopefully the break of day would not bring with it the exposure of a slaughter only some blessed sunlight.

This was not the longest he had been awake, but he was beginning to tire. They had ridden with haste during the day to reach this far east in just one day and Leofric could feel how his reflexes were getting slower, his senses duller.

The same might be true for the attackers, though one could never be certain. As attackers they had an advantage. They had chosen the place, they had chosen the time and they might very well be well rested. If they were ask skilled as the remnants of their preparations in the village suggested it was more than likely.

It was still dark though, and the persistent rain wouldn't allow for his clothes to dry, making him feel cold, wet and just a tad bit miserable. Still he cheered himself up by telling himself that this was what he preferred; being outside in the mercy of the weather to being cooped up inside.

After some time he reached the second village, and with his sharp eyes he could take in the mayhem. From the side he approached a slope led up to the Ǽdre and the ground was littered with bodies.

He couldn't see anything distinct about them, just shapes against the otherwise even ground. He swallowed thickly, pushing away the unbidden images that flickered through his mind. He had immediately imagined torn, red cloaks. The proud men he had known fleetingly, pierced by wicked blades. The young Prince on the ground with his eyes staring unseeingly, his green irises glazed over in death.

He was too seasoned to let this cripple him for long, having seen far worse, and expecting to see more horrible things before the end. Leofric steered his horse up the hill; taking care to not let it trample any of the bodies, enemies too deserves that much respect.

Halfway up he sat down and bent down to investigate the bodies. He hissed as he recognized the colours they wore as the colours of King Cenred. That was as bad as it was unexpected. At the same time he was filled with some resignation, having known on some level that the King of Essetir was greedy and had his eyes on Camelot. War was likely to follow now, he felt sad for the villagers, they had already seen enough hard times, and as they lived so close to the border they would be right in the crossfire.

He sat back up and rode around the village, trying to spot anything. The number of bodies lessened on the south and western sides, showing that the knights had been met head on upon arrival. Once he'd done a lap around the village without seeing anything to either discourage or strengthen his hope he decided to search the village itself.

Ǽdre appeared to be larger than Néahdún, something he credited to that it was a bit farther inside the border and by a source of freshwater. Peace and water were not to be underestimated. Both were needed for a settlement to prosper.

The debris of the houses that outlined the edge of the village did not allow for easy manoeuvring, so he was forced to once more dismount and search the village on foot.

The ground was muddy and gave uncertain footing. Leofric hadn't seen hide nor hair of any of the knights and now he was looking for them with increasing desperation. He searched both for movement and for familiar shapes on the ground.

It was when he'd walked halfway though the village that he spotted something. By the wall of a collapsed house a man was hunched on the ground, leaning over another man. Leofric's breath hitched in his throat, as he took in the red cape flowing out behind the hunched man.

One or more had survived then. He stood frozen just taking the pair in. The one on the ground, whose torso was pierced by several arrows was the young knight named Edric.

Leofric had never worked with Edric before this mission, so he felt no true grief when he understood that the knight was dead. He felt certain anger though, at both the men responsible and at himself for the man's passing. He knew the anger directed towards himself was irrational, it wasn't as if he was directly responsible, neither was it likely that he'd been able to do anything to stop it from happening had he been present at the time.

He stalked closer with slow, measured steps and could see that the hunched man had blond hair, revealing him as Prince Harry. He sighed with relief, glad that the Prince was alive. He kept still and silent, not wanting to disturb the grieving, young noble.

He was beginning to relax, leaning against the wall of another house, when a movement to his right made him tense. With unnatural speed a shape flew out from the darkness. Remnants of fire were reflected in a blade in the man's hand and Leofric was acting before he had time to think.

He lunged forward intercepting the attacker and only had time to se Harry turn around before they made contact, tumbling to the ground. He felt searing pain in his abdomen. The dagger had entered his stomach, and he could already feel blood beginning to pour into his mouth. He coughed as he struggled on.

The man had a wiry strength to him, and he had the weapon. Leofric had not thought to unsheathe his own blade, knowing that the Prince's life depended on his speed and now he was paying for it. He suspected that he was going to die, but if so he would go down fighting.

_.oOo._

Arthur was relieved when Gaius appeared, a small glass vial in hand and Guinevere at his heels. He hadn't known what more to say to Morgana. He didn't like admitting it, but she had him unable to come up with a defence.

"Gaius," he said, giving a relieved smile in the old man's direction. That was until he glanced back at Morgana who was glaring, not at the Court Physician though. It was Guinevere who was the target of her ire.

The maid looked abashed, lowering her head in apology and Arthur remembered that she has said Morgana didn't want Gaius' help.

"It was I who asked Guinevere to get Gaius," Arthur said, determined that the Gwen shouldn't get the blame for something he'd ordered.

"I see." Morgana turned her glare on Arthur, and he felt the urge to duck his head as he met those icy eyes, but he didn't allow Morgana to intimidate him.

"Morgana, how are you? Guinevere's told me that you had a nightmare," Gaius spoke before the confrontation could escalate.

"It wasn't a dream," Morgana insisted once more.

Arthur took Gaius advancement as his chance to back off and he went to stand next to Guinevere as the older man sat down on Morgana's bed.

"Will you tell me about it?"

"It was raining and there was fire. Harry was fighting in a battle. People died. The images changed so fast I couldn't see what was going on. I just know that I was filled with this awful feeling. Things changed and Harry was alone, searching for something. He found another person and he was attacked. Then I only saw blood."

Gaius hummed. "Dreams can seem very real, that doesn't mean that they are," he soothed. "I've prepared this for you." He held up a small bottle.

"I don't want to sleep," she said in a whisper, the fight having drained from her.

"It is not another sleeping draught. It will simply calm you down. It is not healthy to get too upset. You need your rest."

"I- Okay." Morgana closed her eyes for a moment. "Thank you, Gaius."

"You are welcome, my Lady. You can always count on my aid."

She nodded and accepted the bottle, removing the stopper and swallowing down the contents, making a slight grimace at the taste.

"Guinevere, will you stay with Morgana?" Gaius asked as he got up.

"Of course." Guinevere who'd seen Morgana's expression of distaste moved to give her a glass of water.

"Sire, I'm sure you need your sleep," Gaius continued turned to the Prince.

"Maybe I should…" Arthur began to say, looking at the woman in the bed.

"Don't worry more about me, Arthur," Morgana said, smiling bleakly. She already appeared a lot calmer. "Thank you for coming; it's more than I had any right to expect."

Arthur frowned at that, feeling that he should make a protest. They might not get on as well as she and Harry did, but that did not meant that he didn't care for her and that he wouldn't be there for her when asked.

"It is okay, Arthur. I know I can trust you, I'm just teasing that's all. I will be alright now."

"Okay. I- Good night, Morgana."

"Good night, Arthur."

Gaius and Arthur left Morgana's bedchambers; they walked in silence down the corridor, the only sound the consisted pounding of the rain and the occasional rumbling of thunder.

"Will she be alright?" Arthur asked and they both stopped.

"I believe so, sire. I will look into different sleeping potions I can possible give her. I think that she can change which ones she takes they will be more potent as her body will not get accustomed to the substance."

"Good," Arthur nodded.

"If that is all?"

"Oh, of course, I shall not detain you any longer."

"Then I wish you a good night, sire."

Arthur nodded absentmindedly, his thoughts were back with Morgana and the dream she'd had.

"Gaius?"

Gaius turned around halfway down the corridor, looking back to the Prince. "Yes?"

"The dream she had. It couldn't be real could it? She saw Harry and I began to wonder…"

"Dreams are only dreams, Arthur. There is nothing to fear." Gaius walked back and studied the blond man's face. "You are still not convinced."

"No, no I believe you. It is Morgana who insists that there is more to it and I couldn't help but think. This weather… Do you find it strange?"

"A little perhaps," Gaius allowed. "That is not cause enough to believe that it is anything other than a storm. They happen."

"Yes, of course." Arthur changed his weight form his right to his left leg and thought. Harry had nightmares as well. There was something similar about the dreams plaguing Morgana and the dreams his brother suffered from.

He sighed, coming to a decision. It was, as it always had been up to Harry if he wanted to tell anyone about the dreams. "I'll just let you get back to it. Good night, Gaius." Arthur walked away without waiting for a reply, needing to sleep and determined to try despite the noise of the storm, there was no using in worrying about his brother when he was a day's ride away.

_.oOo._

Harry blinked. The pain that should have crippled him as that wicked sharp blade cut into his flesh never came. He looked to his left, following the sound of grunts and saw two shapes, locked together in brutal fight.

He didn't understand what was happening. One moment he'd been feeling awful over the death of Edric, the next his friend opened his eyes, and before he could verify that it had happened he was attacked only to have the attack redirected as someone defended him.

A drop of rain fell in his eye and he blinked frantically to get his vision to clear. He peered though the rain at the two struggling men. The attacker was on top, he was snarling and he had a knife in his hand.

Leofric, the older scout was underneath, he was doing his best to counter the attack, holding against the onslaught, but Harry could see that he was losing, the knife coming closer and closer to his face.

Harry leaped to his feat, instinctively wanting to come to the older scouts defence as the man had come to his, only to have his leg collapse under him with the sudden strain. The cut to his leg was worse than he had feared if it could cripple him like this.

He alternated between panting in pain and cursing under his breath, not able to move, but he stared unblinkingly at the pair locked in mortal struggle, as if his gaze upon them could lend Leofric strength.

Leofric tried to roll them over, using his larger frame and his uninjured legs to try and do so, but the momentum was too large and they rolled over a couple of times and ended up with him under the attacker again.

Harry slowly crawled to his feet, careful to not put to much weight on his injured leg this time around. He leant heavily on the same wall that Edric sat propped up against, his vision was flickering a bit around the edges and he forced himself to stay awake. It had all been too much and his body was about ready to give out, he wasn't going to give in though that was to invite death.

Leofric grunted as the dagger inched closer to his throat. His mouth was filled with blood and he could feel how the life was leaving him in time with the blood that was oozed out of the stab wound.

He coughed as blood blocked his airways and that short moment of inattentiveness was enough for the other man to win the struggle and the edge of the blade slid into Leofric's throat, cutting off his windpipe. With a gurgle and a strangled breath, Leofric passed from this life.

"No!" Harry yelled. "Expelliarmus!" The spell was past his lips before he could reflect on the action, his hand was raised and the magic focused through it. A beam of scarlet light shot out of his hand, hitting the man dead on, making the dagger fly out of his hand, high into the air and out of sight.

The disarming charm had been so overpowered that the man himself was knocked back several paces and once he landed he did not get up again, seemingly unconscious.

Harry panted hard. He did not know what to feel anymore. Grief. Anger. Hate. Sadness. He felt completely drained. Tired and cold.

Leofric lay unmoving a few feet away, his front covered with dark blood.

"Harry..?"

Harry closed his eyes, and breathed in through his nose, not knowing if he wanted to laugh or cry as he heard Edric say his name.

His scout was dead, his knights were gone. His friend was alive, though it wasn't clear if he would stay that way, his injuries were so serious and said friend might have seen and heard what he had done. He would know what he was.

"Harry..?" Edric's voice was low and rough as he repeated the name; the question was clear in the single word.

"Yes?" Harry forced himself to remain calm, to turn around and bend down at Edric's side and give him a smile, he knew that he was likely to loose his friend one way or another; either to the arrows in his chest or to his very own magical nature.

"Where are we? I hurt so bad. I don't remember…"

The Prince couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips. The sense of relief flooding his veins was overpowering. Edric hadn't seen. He didn't know what Harry was. "We're in a village near the border," he said. "There was a battle. You got shot. You're badly wounded but I will take care of you. You will be alright. You will be alright. I give you my word."

* * *

**End Chapter 9**

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**AN 21st June 2013:**

You see! I can do it! No horrible cliff-hanger this time (right?)!

So that was chapter 9. I'm sorry if it wasn't all that exiting. I've known how Harry would survive for some time, when it was time to write it I felt that I needed to show Leofric's POV for it to make sense, and when I did that it got a lot longer than I intended. I hope you didn't mind too much. I also think that allowing us to see a bit more of Leofric might have made the impact of his death a bit larger. If not, well, you're a callous bastard (relax, I'm just joking).

Sadly no Merlin this time, but he'll get his spotlight sooner or later.

I hope you liked the chapter. Let me know what you thought.

I'd just like to remind you that I post updates on my progress every once and then on my bio page.


	10. Chapter 10

**Two Destinies**

* * *

**Chapter 10**

_Words: 7 329_

* * *

Edric didn't speak again, he had fallen unconscious once more, but that was all right. He was breathing, his pulse was steady; he was alive. For now that was all that mattered. They could frankly be thankful that he was able to escape the pain of his injuries through being unconscious. Harry envied him somewhat in that matter.

He himself was deathly tired and going numb with the inescapable cold that penetrated his damp clothes, despite this he forced himself back onto his feet. He walked slowly over to the man who had tried to kill him, limping as his injured leg had to bare his weight. He glanced down at the man who cowardly had attacked him when he had his back turned and who would have succeeded in robbing him of his life if Leofric hadn't sacrificed himself.

He too was unconscious. He was cleanly shaven and his face was surprisingly young. He couldn't have been older than Harry, rather he looked younger. He was slight and was wearing high quality armour. Besides being out cold he appeared to be unharmed.

Harry scowled at that. It wasn't fair. Battle was never fair. He sighed, brushing away his hair from his eyes; it always manages to get back there to make it harder to see.

Harry wanted nothing more than to slit the man's throat in vengeance as well as to protect himself. Even if Edric hadn't been lucid enough to understand that he had used magic, the same may not be said for this man. His desires had to be put aside however as any information the man could provide them with could prove to be invaluable.

They needed to know why they where there, why they were burning down villages seemingly without plundering them, why Cenred had sent them and where they were headed next. The man would provide them with answers whether he wanted to or not. While torture was not commonly practiced in Camelot, as Uther did not condone it in most cases, thinking it cowardly, Harry was not above it when it could give him what he needed to keep his people safe. And he had a few other measures at his disposal as well.

He was not by any means skilled at legilimency, but with the right concentration he could skim a person's surface thoughts and that was enough to tell him if they were lying or not and in a situation like this it was dead useful.

"Incarcerous," Harry muttered and ropes appeared out of nowhere, binding the man tightly. Even if he were to awake any time soon he wouldn't be able to do anything, the ropes were so tight that he wouldn't be able to wriggle in the slightest, let alone try to make an escape.

Harry shook his head to clear it. More black spots were appearing in his vision. He could sense that he didn't have much left in him before he too would pass out. There was just one last thing he needed to do before he could allow himself some rest.

A situation like the one that had just passed could not be allowed to happen again. He had been foolish to lower his guard. It was inexcusable no matter the circumstances and his exhaustion. It wasn't right that Leofric had been the one to pay with his life for Harry's mistake.

He knew better and ought to have acted like it. His life was valuable to more people than himself and he shouldn't give it up carelessly. He had a duty to his people. He should only sacrifice himself if giving his life could do more good than staying alive would. That certainly wasn't the case at this time.

Harry limped towards the edge of the village, bent down to the ground with a grunt of pain, drew his dagger and scratched a rune in the soft ground, speaking an incantation as he did so. "Eviglioem é tutorio."

Warmth travelled through his hand and magic was embedded in the rune, making it glow softly for a brief moment.

Harry continued to do this at regular intervals, walking around the village and bending down every now and then to repeat the charm. It was a proximity ward, which would alert him if anything moved within the circulated area.

The spell could normally be done by just demanding the magic to protect a targeted area, but as Harry was drained he chose this method as it required less magic from him. The runes while holding no power of their own, had the ability to amplify power between each other and Harry felt that he had better control over the amount of physical energy he retained compared to magical.

When Harry returned to Edric's side he was on the brink of fainting. He could hardly see any longer, the black spots having grown until nearly everything was covered by them, only the area around his focus point remained visible.

He felt drained in everyway sense of the word. His wounds were aching and he could only pray that he would be alright once he woke up again, only hope that he would reawaken at all.

_.oOo._

Merlin has somehow managed to fall asleep sometime during the early hours of the morning, after the storm had finally subsided, the rain and thunder coming to an end. He did not get much rest though. He awoke with the first rays of the sun and felt much too restless to stay abed. His body felt strangely itchy, he suspected that it was a result from all the magic that had saturated the air during the night, he felt like it had penetrated his skin and was rushing through his limbs, adding to his own magic.

"Good morning." Gaius was already up when he came downstairs, fixing with breakfast from the looks of it.

"Morning," Merlin answered slightly subdued, he had a feeling that the older man wasn't completely pleased with him, although he couldn't fathom why.

"I got you water. You didn't wash last night." Gaius looked pointedly at the bucket of water sitting on the table.

"Sorry," Merlin mumbled walking over to the table. This explained Gaius demeanour in part, but Merlin suspected that there was more to it.

"Go ahead, help yourself to breakfast."

Merlin sat down and looked at the bowl sitting before him. It was filled with watery porridge, which didn't look particularly mouth-watering. "Last night, before you went out, you said we'd talk?" He said, more interested in talking than in the food.

"Yes. I did."

"What did you want to talk about?"

Gaius didn't answer, instead he turned around and picked with some items on one of the shelves.

Merlin stared at him, shaking his head and picked up his spoon, stirring the goo in the bowl with slight disgust. When he let it dribble back into the bowl it made an unpleasant sloshing sound and he grimaced.

Gaius suddenly turned around, his elbow getting caught on the bucket and it fell, water splashing out.

Without thinking Merlin stood up and used his magic to stop the fall. The bucket and the water hung suspended in the air, as if frozen in time.

Gaius gasped, looking at the feat of magic. "How do you do that?"

"I-I," Merlin stammered, meeting Gaius' gaze, his hand still raised.

"Did you incant a spell in your mind?"

"What? No! I don't know any spells." It was like a repeat of the previous night and Merlin felt his heart drop. He didn't know what more to say in his own defence, he honestly didn't know.

"Can you put it down without spilling any water?" Gaius enquired looking at the water with wide eyes.

In answer Merlin did just that. The water and the bucket unfroze and the bucket moved through the air picking up all the water before it landed on the ground, not a drop spilt, the water sloshing against the sides without flowing over the edge.

"So exactly how did you do that?" Gaius asked, peering intently at a flustered Merlin. "Could you do much more?"

"What?" Merlin tensed at the accusing tone. "What are you implying?"

"Begin by telling me how you stopped the bucket and how you moved the bed yesterday. If you didn't use a spell, what did you do?"

"It just happens." Merlin shrugged, talking fast. "Like instinct sometimes I guess and sometimes if I will it, it happens too. I don't know how I do it, I just can."

"Hmm," Gaius grunted.

"Was it this you wanted to speak about?" Merlin asked, not happy if that was the case. He didn't know how his magic worked, just that it did. It always had; as long as he could remember.

"Only in part. You had nothing to do with the storm I hope?"

Merlin gaped; a bit hurt that Gaius would think that. They didn't know each other well, that was true, but his mother trusted this man and he had wanted to make a good impression. "N-no! Why would I?"

Gaius sighed, and the suspicion seemed to have faded, making Merlin relax. "Why would anyone?" Gaius asked. "That's what I'd like to know. I've been to see the King. He asked question. Inquiring if I believed magic was at work. People are suspicious. Whispers about magic are already flowing through the city. Anyone could see that the storm wasn't normal. It is the wrong season for thunderstorms. Had it been by the end of summer no one would have been suspicious. But now? And this strong? It is not supposed to be possible."

"What did you tell the King?"

"I told him that I couldn't be certain. The storm could be completely normal. The ways of the weather are beyond man and weather is often irrational."

"And what do you believe?"

"That the catalyst of the storm was magic, someone summoned it."

"So why didn't you tell the King that?"

Gaius gave him a look. "I do not know what purpose the person who conjured it had and as long as I remain ignorant of it, I do not think it just to put their life in jeopardy."

Merlin nodded, glad for the answer, it made him feel safer, made him believe that his secret was safe with Gaius. "So why did you think I had anything to do with it?"

"It would have taken someone powerful to create that storm. From what I can see you have a lot of raw magical power. Weather magic is no easy feat to perform as you are working directly against nature when you use it. And with the weather we've been having, dry for months with clear skis and little to no rain, strong manipulation must have been needed to gather those clouds. There wouldn't have been any moisture in the air to shape the clouds from. It is also certain to say that the spell was taken from the old religion."

Merlin nodded, it was as he had suspected himself. "Whoever did it was powerful. I could feel the magic in the storm. It was in the rain. The water was saturated with power. It was almost intoxicating." Merlin thought back, unable to stop a smile. The magic hadn't felt bad, just potent and full of intent. He didn't think that the person who had conjured it had done so with malicious intention.

Gaius gave Merlin a stern glance when he saw the young man's dreamy expression. "Do not get involved with it. You need to stay out of trouble, now more than ever. Even with my saying that magic might not be involved, Uther was not deterred and he has ordered the guard to search through the city to try and find anyone who might be guilty of using enchantments."

"I'll be careful," Merlin assured with a nod. He didn't want to get into trouble. He had come to Camelot to avoid it and he would do his best to keep his head down and go unnoticed.

"Well, then. Until you can find some paid work, you can help me out. You can begin by delivering a few things for me."

"Oh. " Merlin glanced down at his untouched porridge. He had yet to touch it and he hadn't eaten since arriving in Camelot. . Gaius noted his expression and smiled a little.

"Here," he said, producing a plate with a sandwich on it; two thick slices of newly baked white bread with an even thicker slice of ham in between. "Have this, now off with you."

Merlin smiled. "Thank you."

_.oOo._

Harry returned to consciousness as through a thick fog, getting drawn by an insistent loud noise. When he had been out cold, everything had been black and formless, he hadn't dreamed, neither of the normal nor any other kind. He felt at once as if he had been asleep for a long time and as if he had just moments earlier closed his eyes, succumbing to his fatigue.

The world around him showed the passing of time however, as he looked around blearily. The sun was up now, shining from a stretch of blue sky by the eastern horizon. The rain had stopped and the ground had begun to dry up. The fires were dead and the blood of the fallen had been washed away. Despite this it was not a nice view to wake up to, the memories of the horror that had passed lingered on every surface, on every patch of grass and every ruined house.

Edric was in the same position Harry had last seen him in, his chin resting against his chest, arms sprawled at his sides and arrow shaft sticking up peculiarly from his front. The knight was not as quiet as he had been previously. He was breathing audibly now, the sound strained and arduous, making it clear that the simple act of breathing was a struggle. Even as such it gave Harry a bit of comfort as it proved to him that Edric still clung on to life, the question was just for how long he would be able to fight against the dragging depths of death.

What had stirred Harry in the first place were his wards. Some one had entered the perimeter and they were still there. With a gesture that took to much energy to bring any comfort Harry stopped the alarm which was prickling at the back of his mind, a blearing noise in his ears that only he could hear, and got to his feet, sword in his hand, ready to defend himself if need be.

He might not be at his best, the wounds having grown yet more painful since last he'd been awake, most likely having begun to grow infected, but he told himself sternly that he would not sit idly as death sneaked upon him. If he was to die he would look death in the eye and challenge him, it was no less than Leofric had done and he owed the man to show the same kind of bravery.

"Do you see them?" a voice called from his left. It was far away, just within hearing range.

"No!" another answered. "No sign of them yet!" This voice was closer and he recognized it. It was Bertrand and it meant that the other voice belonged to Geraint.

The adrenaline which had begun to flow through his body ebbed away, and he was once more left feeling as drained as he actually was. He had not an ounce of energy left for fight remaining in his body and Harry sat back down, sagging against the wall. He knew he should make his presence known, but he couldn't make himself draw enough breath to shout. He simply sat there waiting to be found, his eyes closed and his sword resting in his lap.

"We'll be all right now, Edric," he whispered, reaching out and squeezing Edric's hand. "I'll be able to keep my word."

"Geraint! I've found them!"

Harry opened his eyes and saw the weathered face of Bertrand looming above him.

"Hi," he said, faintly, trying for a smile.

"Harry." The man bent down, looking distinctly relieved and worried at the same time. "Where are you hurt?"

"I've got 'n arrow 'n my shoulder, I just broke of the shaft," Harry slurred. He was too tired to bother with speaking clearly. "And I got a slash wound on my leg. Otherwise 'm just tired, drained y'know? Edric's not doing so good an' Leofric's dead. I- he saved my life."

"I see." Bertrand looked over to where Leofric's body lay, closing his eyes for a moment and sighing softly.

"Harry!" Geraint had found them, barging from around one of the ruined buildings. "You're injured."

"I know." Harry smiled a little at the tall, strawberry-blond knight. "Where'd you go?" He groaned as he struggled to sit up straighter.

Bertrand gave him a hand, although he couldn't completely mask his disapproving frown. "You should take it easy," he said.

"Where did you go?" Harry insisted, pronouncing each word with care and lacing them with as much authority as he could muster, through it might not have been much.

"The battle was nearly over," Geraint began to explain. "A group of five decided to flee. I and Bertrand had been engaged with them and we decided to pursue them. They led us on a merry chase." He chuckled dryly. "I'm amazed at how they could run! It wasn't natural. I don't think it could have been. It was as if they couldn't grow tired. However we eventually lost them as we entered a forest. We felt that it was unsafe to continue then. They might have prepared an ambush and as dawn was upon us we decided to return. At least we know which direction they were headed; east, deeper into the Kingdom."

"You did the right thing. If there were any more of them, and they were prepared they would just have slaughtered you. You made the right decision to turn around."

Bertrand nodded. He looked over at Leofric again and he must have seen the bound enemy soldier. "Is he alive?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "When the battle was over I went looking for you. I found Edric and I believed him to be dead. I let my guard down and I would have been dead if Leofric hadn't stopped him. I owe him my life and I'll never be able to repay it." He closed his eyes again, tired from speaking and from remembering.

"You can repay him by taking care of the boy, his nephew. I believe he would have wanted that."

Harry thought about that. It sounded like a good idea. As far as he knew Brain was the only relative Leofric had and he had cared for the young man. Perhaps he could repay his debt through Brain. "You're right," he said. "I'll do that. But first, I need to return to Camelot."

"My horse, yours and Edric's are dead," Geraint muttered. "I haven't seen Bertrand's since the beginning of the battle, but Leofric's mare was bound over there." He pointed in the general direction of the horse. "It won't be easy to get back. It'll be slow and you both need your wounds looked over."

"Brain will still have his horse," Bertrand mused "And we should be able to track down mine, if he ran away he should be somewhere around here. Then we'll have three horses. That should be enough."

Harry turned his head and looked at Edric. His breathing was shallower. It was unmistakable that the young knight was slowly slipping away. "Edric's in more dire need of medicine then I am," he said. "He needs help as soon as possible. We don't have time to fetch Brain's horse, or the time to look for yours, Bertrand. I will go to Camelot by myself, and I'll take Edric with me."

"Sire, I must say that I don't think it's wise," Bertrand said gruffly. "You are weak and there's a risk that you will fall unconscious and however sad I am to say it, I believe that Edric is already beyond help."

"He is not beyond help," Harry hissed, somehow getting to his feet, straitening his back and glaring at the older knight. "I'm not giving up on him!"

Bertrand raised his hand in surrender. "All right. I just- I worry about you. You can barely stand!" As if to prove his point Harry wavered on his feet and Bertrand had to place a hand on his uninjured shoulder to steady him.

"I don't need to be able to stand," he insisted and pushed away the helping hand. "We can bind me to the horse, and if I fall unconscious she will find her way back on her own, she's trained to always find her way back home. I can get back faster if I go alone and you know it. Edric just needs to see Gaius, he can still make it, and my wounds need to be attended to as well. I'll send reinforcement as soon as I can. Until then you should help the refugees as best you can."

"What about the boy? Brain?" Geraint asked.

"Tell him what happened. I feel I should be the one to do it, but better he learns the truth right away."

"I agree," Bertrand nodded.

"Yes, better to know the truth," Geraint agreed. "And how about him," he glared in the direction of the prisoner.

"Keep him alive. He is to be interrogated at a later time."

"Yes, sire."

"Fetch the horse," Harry said. "The sooner I get moving the sooner these wounds will just be a few more scars among many."

_.oOo._

It was a nice day in Diagon Allay, early summer of the year 2001, it saw people walking down the street, perusing the wares in the stalls outside the shops and walking inside only to come out with their pockets deprived of gold.

Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour had many visitors and more than one witch and wizard remained seated there long after they'd finished their cool treat, simply enjoying the sun and looking at the teeming crowd.

Sirius and Remus were there eating lunch together at a bistro located in one of the side alleys. They were seated outside in an out-air café, talking amicably about Remus' latest job. It was not easy being a werewolf and keeping a steady employment.

This time he'd managed to acquire a post as an assistant wood charmer at a small manufacturer of furniture. He had great hopes that he would be able to keep the job as it was a small company that was family owned and the man who had decided to hire him actually knew that he was a werewolf and even knowing this he had given Remus a chance.

Sirius was just about to propose a toast then his expression changed. The dark-haired man tensed up and he glanced down at his hand, or really at the ornate silver ring that adorned his middle finger, eyes narrowing. Albus Dumbledore had charmed the ring with a spell that alerted Sirius when Harry was conscious by heating up.

Remus sighed when he noticed where Sirius' attention had turned to. He was much too used to his long time friend spending more time than what was healthy hanging by young Harry's bedside. Things had become better once Harry made contact about five years earlier, and the subsequent discovery of the spell that Dumbledore had charmed the ring with.

After that Sirius had been able to more or less return to the life he'd had before the death of James and Lily. But for about fifteen years he had not worked and barely sat a food outside the Potter ancestral home.

Now he was back to being an active Auror and he could allow himself to live a little, Remus knew that he had been on a couple of dates and even a short holiday outside the country.

Remus had supported him from the start though; he'd been one of the few who had. If he had been the one whom James and Lily had chosen to be Harry's godfather he hoped that he would have had the strength to do the same, to never waver in his belief that Harry would one day wake up.

That others didn't support Sirius was largely because they didn't know why he was behaving the way he did, simply thinking that he was depressed following the death of his best friend and his family, therefore choosing to be reclusive.

Remus had known the truth and he'd seen Sirius waning away as he sat by Harry's bedside, forever telling stories at Dumbledore's request. It had been hard for both of them. Impossibly hard and they had lived with very little hope to keep them going from day to day.

They hadn't known if Harry could hear them, as completely unresponsive as he was. They only had Dumbledore's word that Harry needed them, that he was listening to Sirius' tales and that it was helping him more than they could imagine. The Headmaster of Hogwarts had been tight-lipped with how he knew anything, and it had frustrated them to no end.

In the end their trust had paid off and Sirius had been ecstatic once Harry spoke, muttering that one sentence asking for his help. The problem was that it only happened once. And Sirius had confessed that he wasn't sure whether he had imagined it or not. Perhaps he had grown so isolated that his mind ha begun to play tricks on him, and he had only heard Harry speak because he wanted it so much.

Once again Dumbledore was the one finding a solution, and keeping their hope alive. He told them that he had been searching for ways to communicate with Harry and that he believed that Harry's consciousness was travelling through time, entering his body here for short periods of times when he was asleep in the past.

From that belief the spell recognizing consciousness had been sought out and cast, and they had been so happy when it worked. They had proof now. They knew that Harry was actually with them at times. It also meant that Sirius could stop feeling like he always had to be there. He just had to be able to get there when Harry was there, and it was seldom enough that he could live a normal life again.

It was around this time that the Order of the Phoenix, the group led by Dumbledore, dedicated to fighting against Voldemort and his death eaters was gathered again.

The group had never been completely disbanded though. With the prophecy known by Sirius the man had made sure that the society was active. Although they didn't have strategy meetings or went out to show a force of resistance as they had in the days of Voldemort's first rise, he made certain that they met regularly, that they never forgot what had happened and that they didn't grow complacent.

Dumbledore was pleased by this and allowed Sirius to run all the administrative parts out of Potter Manor, knowing that it was healthier for Sirius to keep occupied with more things than just attending to his unresponsive godson, even if he let the younger wizard know how very important that part of his duties was.

Harry for that matter was their greatest secret. Not even all Order members knew what had happened to him. As far as the wizarding world knew, Harry was alive and well but out of the country, living with some relatives on the continent and going to school there, in a way that was true, if only you replaced where with when.

Only a few privileged members of the Order knew the truth.

As of late it was becoming more and more clear that keeping the Order alive had been the right thing to do. Over the last few years signs and whispers had begun to spread through the community and legalisations promoting blood purity and segregation with muggles had gone through one after another. It was much like during Voldemort's first rise and they were all afraid that exactly that was happening again.

It was hard to tell though. Nothing concrete had reached them, Snape who had been their spy at the end of the first war and still had contacts in those circles had little to say besides what had to be categorized as normal politics and alliances being made. And so far no mysterious disappearances or deaths had occurred. But they knew something was stirring and they kept their vigil, waiting for the inevitable return of the Dark Lord, keeping look out for any signs as they did not know what strategy the man would chose to employ this time around.

A new generation of witches and wizards, those who had never seen the horrors of the war had begun to walk out into adult life and a few had been selected from the Order as they were sure others were recruited to the opposite side. It was only a matter of time before there would be war again, the prophecy demanded it and as it had begun to play out it was inevitable that it would run its course and that meant that Harry was very important.

Once Snape had stepped forth with the altered form of legilimency that allowed a person to enter another's conscious and thus allowing Sirius to speak with Harry, the importance of the young man had only been made more apparent. As the brother of King Arthur from legends and a person who would find his place in destiny beside Merlin he was an academic wonder, but more than that from what Sirius had told them he was also a good person.

"Go," Remus said, putting down his glass, suppressing his disappointment. "It is rare enough that he is here. I'll come over for dinner later and we can continue this. Talk to him about letting more of us talk with him, will you?"

"Of course. Thanks Remus," Sirius said standing. "Why don't you bring Dora and Teddy along? We can make a thing of it. If you like we can have more people over."

Remus mustered a smile. "Sounds good. I'm sure they'll like that."

"I'll see you later then." Sirius hurried away towards the apparition point.

_.oOo._

Harry was panicking, he didn't want to admit it, but he was. He must have fallen asleep sometime during the journey back to Camelot for he now found himself locked in his unresponsive body in the twenty-first century. He recognized the feeling well. It frustrated him to no end that he wasn't able to move as much as a muscle. Not to twitch a finger, not to blink, not to speak. He couldn't as much as control his own breathing. He wanted to scream with the unease of it, but all he could do was to observe if it was night or day, depending on what colour the inside of his eyelids were, feel the never changing soft bed under his body and the smooth sheets against this hands. He listened to the sounds and noticed the smells. They sometimes changed. In the winter it was different from summer, more quiet and a crisper sense to the air.

Today, it smelled clean and was quiet aside from the chirping of a few birds penetrating the walls of the house. His guardian, Sirius, was not there; otherwise the man would already have been talking.

Harry had come to expect waking up alone. A spell had been arranged that told the man when he was awake so that he need not spend all his time hanging by Harry's bedside. Usually he didn't have to wait long and needed only to be a little patient. Now he didn't have any patience at all. He wanted to be moving, wanted to be awake and back on his horse so that he could make sure nothing happened to him or Edric.

What he wanted didn't matter though. He was locked in this coffin of a body. He knew that this body was in perfect condition. He had been told that some strange magic was imbued through it, keeping it healthy and growing as it would have had he been using it actively, exercising and eating healthy. But what was the use of that convenience if he couldn't move?

"Harry!" And there was Sirius. "I was away," he said in way of apologizing for the brief wait, sounding a bit out of breath, showing that he had hurried to get to Harry's side. "I was out for lunch with Remus, he's just gotten a new job and we were celebrating, but I returned her as quick as I could when the ring heated up. I think we should talk today; I'm dying to know how things went and I need to ask you something. Will you let me in?"

Harry didn't want to be here. He wanted to say no, scream that he could go to hell if it only allowed him to wake up and be where he was supposed to be. However he knew that there wasn't as if he could do much about it so he allowed Sirius into his mind.

The smouldering dark ruin of Ǽdre took shape around them, giving testimony to the upheaval of Harry's mind. Usually he choose his chambers as it was convenient and relaxing, and a few times he had shown other places around Camelot to Sirius, but today he couldn't control where his thoughts were wandering and they had been centred on the events of the passed day, leaving them in the ruined village he had been fighting in.

The rain was pouring and the fires were sizzling, it was cold, damp and miserable.

Sirius had been smiling, his mouth open to speak, but when he saw the place they were standing in the grin slipped from his face and his expression showed concern. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"Everything is wrong!" Harry claimed, not caring that he was being melodramatic. "I shouldn't be here!" he said, beginning to pace. It was a blessing to be able to move with ease. In his mind at least he was healthy and strong. "I need to be awake. I need to wake up."

"What's happened?"

"I was on patrol. We were on our way to investigate some rumours that had been travelling along our eastern border. Not long after we'd made camp the first night I saw fire in the distance. A village had been attacked, set aflame." He spoke fast, the story spilling from his lips and he felt like he was in a daze.

"We got there as soon as we could, but the enemy was gone and the village destroyed, people were fleeing, their homes destroyed. Then another village not far from there was attacked as well. We got there and Cenred's men where there. We fought. The battle went on for hours. I-I was hit by an arrow and sustained a few other minor injures. It was horrible. The smell, the fire… I was so tired and the other's where gone, I didn't know where. Then it was over. I found Edric, and he had been hit by several arrows and I tried to find his pulse, but there wasn't anyone there. I- I thought he was dead and, then I was attacked, but Leofric one of the scouts saved me. He died. I should have known better I…" Harry's voice had grown higher and higher as he spoke, his steps faster, his hands had found their way up into his hair and he looked about ready to start tearing at it.

"Harry!" Sirius called, grabbing his shoulders, and making him lower his hands. "Calm down! You're panicking! Look into my eyes and take a deep breath."

Harry complied, gazing into Sirius' gray eyes.

"That's it. Calmly. In. Out. In. Out."

Harry could feel himself calming down as he breathed in the rhythm Sirius provided, the panic ebbing away, but the urge to hit something staying with him.

"There. All better?"

"Yeah. Thanks." Harry sighed.

Sirius looked around, his gaze roaming from the burning houses to the puddles of rainwater and into the distance where you could see the outline of bodies on the dark grass. "Is this the village?"

"Yes. The second one; Ǽdre."

"Looks bad."

"It was. It still is. Néahdún was worse."

"I'm so sorry."

"So am I."

"Do you want to tell me what happened next?"

Harry shook his head, but continued talking anyway. "I got angry and I used Expelliarmus on the man who killed Leofric. I don't know if he understood what I did, it happened so fast. He's been unconscious since. Then Edric was waking up. He wasn't dead after all."

"That's good." Sirius smiled, but in the light of the dying flames the effect was thwarted, making him look a bit sinister. "Edric's your friend, right?"

"Yes. He is. And he is badly wounded, I'm not sure he'll make it." Now Harry did give into the urge to hit something, kicking a brick which dissolved before it hit anything, so much for using the dreamscape to get rid of anger.

"I'm sorry to hear that," the older man said sympathetically. "I'm not that good with healing spells, just what I need in the field and that is noting like the things you encounter, but if you need it I can look something up or ask around," Sirius immediately offered.

"I don't think there's any use. I'm too tired to use magic now and later others will have seen the wounds and it'll be suspicious if they heal suddenly."

"That is a problem." Sirius frowned. "Is it really that bad?"

"You know it is. My father- I fear he'll have me executed if he finds out, it doesn't matter that I've never used my powers to harm the Kingdom."

Sirius lips formed a tight line, and he looked like he wanted to comfort Harry but didn't know how to go about it. "I didn't mean that, I was talking about the injuries, but... yeah…"

"Oh…"

"So your dad, he… You think he would..? If he found out?" Sirius looked angry at the very thought, and Harry got the impression that if he could his godfather would come to Camelot and slap the King over the head, and then jinx him with some imaginative prank. The image made his heart grow slightly lighter.

"It's okay," Harry said. "I know how things are, and I'll have to live with it."

"It's not okay," Sirius insisted. "You shouldn't have to fear your own father, James would have hated that you had to hide who you are."

"Well, Uther is the only father I have, and despite things, I do care for him, and I know he cares for me," Harry got defensive. He had never known James Potter and even if the man had surely been a good man, it was Uther who was his father.

"It's just," he continued, "that magic can be used for horrible things, you know this too and my father he's seen them all, or so it seems. I think things will change one day, perhaps not while he is still alive, but once Arthur is King, it will be different. Until then I'll just keep doing what I'm doing; trying to save as many people as I can."

"Right," Sirius nodded. "So, where are you now? I gathered that you don't think you should be unconscious?"

"I was riding back to Camelot. It was still a long way there. If I'm out just for a bit no harm will be done, but I should really wake up."

"It's troubling, but I have no idea how to help you with that."

"It's fine. Could you- I don't now. Try to distract me, maybe? We can try to do something productive while I'm here I suppose."

Sirius grinned. "I think I can manage that. I've been meaning to ask you how things went with Collins."

Harry smiled; glad to be able to think of something that had gone as they wished. "I believe things went well. I will not know for sure until I hear from him, but he exchanged places with Idonea without trouble and I preformed the spell. It worked just like you said it would, even with the alteration I had to make since it's impossible for me to get my hands on anything, eh, American? So, yes, everything should have gone as planned after that. I made Arthur promise not to watch, so he shouldn't have noticed anything either."

"Good. I'm glad I was able to help."

"You always are."

Sirius smiled, shaking his head. "Sadly, I know you say that only to be kind to me. All too often I find that I don't know enough to help you out. Regarding that I've been thinking."

"What?"

"What would you say if other people could come and talk to you? Teach you things?"

Harry frowned. "Would that be safe?"

"Only people in the Order would be allowed of course, and if it is someone you feel uncomfortable with you can push them out at any time. We've tried that you know. When you've pushed me away I haven't been able to stay."

"You mean letting them into my mind? I just through you meant like our normal lessons." Harry frowned. "I don't like it Sirius. Maybe I can defend myself against you, but would the same be true with a more skilled legilimens? Couldn't they invade my mind?"

"Perhaps," Sirius conceded. "But I believe we can trust anyone who's in the Order or at the very least the ones who know about you."

"Even Snape?"

Sirius scowled. "Yes, even that slimy git. I don't like him, never have, never will, but I have become convinced that he is on our side. As for the others Dumbledore trust them and so do I. We've been more careful with who is allowed to know about you Harry. There won't be a repeat of Pettigrew."

"Can we really be sure?"

"No." Sirius sighed, admitting defeat. "We can never be completely sure. Just think about it. The people here would be able to teach you so much more; healing, transfiguration, charms, curse breaking, Herbology, potions."

"I'll think about it."

"Okay. We'll, I think I'll try to find some healing spells for you till next time, even if you can't use then this time you might need them later. What sort of wounds are there?"

"Arrow wounds. Mine's in the shoulder, rather close to my heart, but not very deep I think. Edric was hit on several spots on his chest. Could you look up how to treat infection as well?"

"Okay. I know what to look for, and as always the less intricate wand movements the better, right?"

"Yes."

"And preferably only things found in Europe or, eh Albion? If you have to make any potions."

Harry never had the chance to answer. He was gone and Sirius was propelled back into his own body. Harry must have woken up, or at least slipped into a different kind of sleep than the deep slumber required for him to cross over to the future.

Sirius sat on the chair next to the bed, looking at Harry, who appeared so very different from the young man he had just spoken to. Illuminated by soft sun instead of wicked flames. Black hair instead of blond. Face narrow rather than squared, expression calm instead of worried and tense, but just as handsome and awfully young.

"Good luck," he murmured quietly.

* * *

**End Chapter 10**

* * *

**AN 5th July 2013:**

Sorry for taking so long, I haven't felt inspired and each time I've tried to write, I've just don't felt like it and I wasn't able to make myself do it. As a result I feel the story isn't all that polished, but it'll have to do and somehow it ended up breaking the record of longest chapter in this story, so take that as an apology.

So, this time around I remind you that the modern world of Harry Potter is part of this story; it could be easy to forget in all the excitement going on in Camelot. We learned what happened with the remaining two knights and Harry is on his way back to Camelot where he just might run into Merlin and I teased you about Tomas Collins whom I hope you haven't forgotten.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, even if the scene with Merlin was awfully like the scene from the show. Let me know what you thought and I'll see you next time.

**_P.S_**

The proximity ward is Modern magic as it is made up of Latin. We have the word tutor, which is, ward, defend, guard, protect and eviglio, which is to wake up or to alert.


	11. Chapter 11

**Two Destinies**

* * *

**Chapter 11**

_Words: 7 446_

* * *

Arthur was trying his very best to relax. He had been trying the same for the better part of the day, and it wasn't working. It seemed like some higher power was working against it, determined that he should keep feeling restless and ill at ease.

The morning had been filled with toil, as had been expected. As soon as dawn arrived he had gone to his father to discuss the situation following the storm. Thankfully the rain had subsided rather quickly and the water had drained away from the city during the morning hours. There was a lot of work left to be done still, but the situation had not been as dire as they had initially feared.

Some of the grain that was kept in storage in the food cellar had been destroyed, but the effort to remove provisions had done a lot to prevent disaster, and the main storages were built to withstand both flood and fire and had remained completely unharmed.

The real trouble would affect the people who made their homes in the lower town and they had arranged for help to be provided for them. Men had been assigned to help rebuild damaged property and some of the food storages had been made available to replace they food that had been destroyed for them.

It was not much, but it was still generous and more than most rulers would willingly give. It made Arthur proud of his father and proud to call Camelot his home. He did not want to imagine a time when Camelot would withhold help from the needful while its lords sat upon storages of plenty. And he knew that such times had passed, he could only hope that they wouldn't happen again.

So far they didn't know how the storm had affected the Kingdom as a whole and it was possible that they did not yet know of the full extent of problems the rain had caused, nor how bad it was in actuality.

Neither Arthur nor Uther knew much about farming, they were willing to admit as much, but they had advisors who knew more and from what they had said it was possible that the rain could have destroyed newly sown fields. As the grain had recently been placed in the soil it wouldn't have rooted well yet. It was also possible that all this water could have caused the grain to be washed away or simply to rot in the ground.

If that had happened the farmers would need new seed to sow if the whole season wouldn't go to waste. They had prepared to give out from their storages, for even if it would cause them to gaping empty it would be far worse if they weren't able to harvest anything at summers end than if they had to live a bit more sparingly for the moths to come.

It was now evening, the sun having set about an hour earlier, darkness falling over the city, bringing with it a nightly chill and comfortable silence. Lady Helen had recently arrived and she was currently seeing his father in the Throne Room, luckily Arthur did not have to attend and he was sitting in his own chambers feeling restless.

He sat by the table, tossing a wrinkly, last year's apple between his hands wondering if he should settle for just eating some fruit or if he should head down to the kitchens and grab something more substantial. He hadn't had supper yet and he didn't have anyone to call on to get it for him as he, like his brother smugly had predicted, had gotten rid of his servant earlier that day, having had enough of the boy's stupidity.

He had been out on the training range, keeping busy in a futile attempt to not worry about his brother, knowing that working up to exhaustion would get him tired enough that he wouldn't be able to think and not thinking would be a blessing at this time.

Normally he wouldn't be the least bit worried when Harry had only been gone for a day, but Morgana's dream and the night's horrible weather had him worrying about his younger brother.

He did not want to put any credence to a dream, but nevertheless it had spooked him. It somehow felt believable. The rain. The village on fire. The dream ending in the colour of blood. If anyone could find trouble on a simple patrol it was Harry. Accidents seemed to be drawn to him, more so than to anyone else he knew, including himself.

Arthur wasn't calmed by the fact that his brother went out on scouting missions all the time. The man practically lived for the life on the road. How Harry could enjoy it so much Arthur would never know. Sure it was fulfilling when a job was well done, but to chose to do menial tasks over remaining in the city… no.

What had to be done in the city was just as important as the field work, and it gave the added bonuses of well cooked food, warm water and a soft bed whenever you liked. They could split their duties evenly, but Harry always offered to take more of the duties which forced him to ride around in the Kingdom.

No, Arthur would never understand it.

To be fair him being worried about Harry wasn't uncommon, he was always more or less worried about his brother. He had utter most confidence in his twin. There was no one he'd rather have at his side in any given situation and he knew that Harry could take good enough care of himself. Until things turns bad that is.

Arthur had seen his brother at his weakest and the image of Harry in bed, pale as a ghost and in pain, not to mention the time of solitude that had followed... Those memories would never leave him and he had a feeling that if anything like what had happened that time were to happen again, if someone close to Harry betrayed him or died, he might fall into a similar state of mind again and that could be dangerous to his continued survival.

Being betrayed or seeing a loved one die in front of his eyes could leave Harry in a state of reduced congestive ability and severely lowered judgement ability when it came to his own safety. This worried Arthur.

He knew that Harry still had a rough time at it, seeing as he would seek comfort from him on nights when his dreams got to bad, and there was something unnatural about the reoccurring dream about green light that his younger brother suffered from.

Arthur himself was plagued by nightmares at times. You couldn't see the amount of death any warrior witnessed and not be affected, if you weren't bothered you weren't human. He could remember the lives he had taken, the innocent that had been put to death because of him and he would revisit the moments of their deaths in his dreams. But his reactions paled in comparison to how Harry handled the same things. His brother simply wasn't good with death.

So there he had been, out on the training range in the cheerily shining sun, which was mocking the rain of the night and his mood for that matter, enduring the stupidity of his latest servant. The boy was clearly an imbecile and Arthur had already decided that morning that he would forfeit his bet to Harry. He would much rather give up his gold than to play nice to the moron who was called Morris. He having forgotten to light a fire last night had been the final straw and seeing him act on the training range had only strengthened his belief that he had come to the right decision when relieving the young man of his duties.

As if it hadn't been enough that he had to contend with Morris, another idiot had made his way onto the scene, thinking that he could tell Arthur what to do. The man or rather boy actually, had stopped him from having a little fun with Morris.

It was mostly harmless and he had grown tired of the serving boy, trying to teach him a lesson, thinking that maybe, perhaps, possibly, though probably not, it could give him one last chance to prove that he could do something right. Sadly this other buffoon had interrupted his plan.

The boy's name was as stupid as his looks. Merlin. Big eared and gangly, with a silly scarf around his neck and a stupid smile plastered over his face he had told Arthur to stop and then he had actually tried to hit him. Not that he came close to succeeding with that, but still!

The punch was uncoordinated and lacked in strength. It had been almost too easy to use the movement against him and if they had been in battle the idiot would have been dead before he could say "And who do you think you are? The King?"

Sure Arthur may have goaded him into trying to hit him, but it just showed how little character Merlin had if he with a few jibs from Arthur could be talked into doing something so utterly stupid.

Not that it mattered all that much, the encounter had ended up with Merlin in the dungeons and Arthur uncured of his anxiety and restlessness, as well as unable to concentrate on his training any longer.

He sighed, switching the apple from his right to his left hand for the umpteenth time. Arthur was at last ready to admit defeat and head down to the kitchens to get something to eat. He'd also have a talk with one of the servants, to see if they could make sure his chambers were seen to until he found a replacement for Morris.

He didn't have much hope that whoever he managed to hire next would be any better than the previous ones he'd had in his service, but the time of miracles may yet come. Who knew, perhaps the next man given the job would be someone worthwhile.

He put the apple down and got to his feet only to halt when the warning bells begun to chime, their toll echoing through the castle, bouncing off the towers and spreading throughout the city bringing their ominous message.

"What the..?" he muttered, walking out into the corridor, with a few long strides. "Find out what's happened!" he commanded the closest guard who hurried off with a short bow.

He couldn't imagine what had happened to cause it. Things had been quiet. There had been no prisoners in the cells who could have escaped, and there had been no reports of anyone who would attack Camelot coming from the nearby area.

Perhaps his father had been right and sorcery was behind the storm, perhaps someone had been apprehended.

He stood there tapping his foot, waiting, getting more and more impatient as time dragged on. He contemplated if he should go and find out for himself, or if he should keep waiting. The sound of the bells died before the guard returned and he was about to give up and go look for himself when he finally showed up at the end of the corridor, Sir Pellinor at his side.

"What is it?" Arthur asked tensely.

"It's Harry," Pellinor answered.

"Harry?" the Prince repeated, stunned.

"The guards at the gates sounded the warning bell when he was spotted on a horse which was moving at random down the road."

"What?" Arthur could feel his stomach drop. It wasn't possible. Morgana's dream couldn't be true. There had to be some other explanation. Any explanation would do.

"I don't know, sire."

Arthur was moving now. He didn't know where to, just that he needed to get to his brother. As in a haze he got down the first flight of stairs, his heart pounding in his ears, and sight turning to tunnel vision. He exited the tower and walked briskly down another corridor.

"Arthur!" Sir Osric had showed appeared at the end of the hall. He was pale and wide eyed, looking as worried as Arthur was feeling.

"Do you know what's going on?" Arthur asked urgently, coming to a halt.

"Harry and Edric are with Gaius," Osric said. "When I left they were both unconscious. I was there when they were found. Harry was bound to the saddle of his horse; it was as if he was anticipating that he might faint. Edric was laying front of him… and… Arthur, they're both injured. Gaius sent me to get you. I think he wanted me out of the way. My brother…" The knight gasped, drawing in a shaky breath. "He's badly wounded and even if Gaius didn't say anything I could see in his eyes that he didn't think Edric would pull through." Osric looked like he wished he was a weaker man so that he could give in to the urge to cry, but he only sniffed a bit, wanting to look brave in front of his prince.

"And Harry? How badly wounded is he?" Arthur demanded, feeling his stomach grow heavier as well as filling with icy dread.

"I don't really know. As I said Gaius chased me out of there before I could understand what was going on."

The Prince nodded curtly. "Let my father know," he said and then he didn't stay long enough to see if the orders were followed. He ran down the corridor, taking the stairs two steps at a time now that he knew where he was going and he reached the Court Physician's Chamber in record time.

"Harry!" He called, before he had a chance to look around the room.

"Quiet Arthur," Gaius scolded in a hiss. "They need rest."

"Oh. Sorry, Gaius," Arthur tried for a properly chided look as the older man glared at him, but he wasn't certain he pulled it off, and he was too worried to care much in either case.

Gaius turned away from him, leaning over a cot holding a man whose face was scrounged up in pain, though he appeared to be unconscious. He was pale, his face dirt streaked and he had curly brown hair falling down on his forehead. Arthur could see that Edric was indeed doing badly as Gaius was working on cleaning several wounds on his chest that were slowly oozing blood and disgusting, yellowish pus.

"Hey, Arthur."

He swirled around when he heard the voice. It was weaker than he would have like, rough and tired. Harry was lying on another cot. He too looked pained, and was frightfully pale, his face having taken on a sickly ashen tone that contrasted with the warm colour of his hair, which was matted with sweat and dust. Harry was dressed in his armour which was bloodied and he had dirt and blood across his face, similar to Edric.

"Harry, you're awake," he breathed, falling to his knees by Harry's bedside the next instant. "What happened?"

"I- We…" Harry gasped in pain, tensing up.

"Arthur," Gaius said. "You should let him rest. He doesn't have the energy to speak at the moment."

Arthur nodded his accent, one glance at Harry was enough to ascertain the truth of the words. He looked his brother over, taking in the crude bandage around his thigh and the splintered wooden shaft that was perturbing from his shoulder.

"Why haven't you tended to his wounds?" he asked accusingly. He didn't like that Harry wasn't being attended to. He wanted Edric to get well too, but Harry was the most important, both to him and to the kingdom. Arthur felt a bit bad for thinking it, albeit it was the truth and it was always better to be honest with yourself.

"It's okay," Harry wheezed. "Edric's worse off than I am. I can wait for my turn. He can't. I insisted."

Arthur frowned, not liking it. Harry was too self-sacrificing. "Gaius, is there anything I can do to help?"

"If you can get him out of that armour and cleaned up it would help. Call for warm water." He hummed thoughtfully. "And freshwater as well."

Arthur went to get up, but he was stopped as a gloved hand grabbed his hand and held tight. "Please don't go," Harry begged. "Just stay with me. I don't want to be alone for now. When I close my eyes I see the battle again, the fire and the rain and… I…"

Arthur gasped lightly. Fire, rain and certainly blood too. It couldn't be Morgana's dream, yet it did sound like it.

"Please," Harry said again and Arthur grimaced, not knowing how he'd be able to deny Harry anything he wanted, even when it was for his own good.

"I'd just be gone for a moment," he said soothingly, squeezing Harry's hand reassuringly.

Harry said nothing, he just looked up sadly at Arthur.

The older Prince, bit his lip, opting for humour to try and make Harry see sense. "Face it; you really need to get cleaned up. You smell."

Harry chuckled, but it turned into a wheezing cough, which was rather pitiful. "You would too, if you'd been riding and fighting without pause since last we spoke."

"I'll be right back, okay?"

"Fine." Harry let go of Arthur's hand and Arthur hurried out of the room, telling the first servant he came across what he required. Before long he was back by his brother's side.

"See, that wasn't so bad," he said, mustering a smile for Harry's sake.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Not too bad."

"Come on; let me help you out of that armour. Can you sit up?"

"Yeah. You know I rode all the way here, I think I can manage to sit up for a bit."

Arthur snorted, but didn't comment on the fact that Harry had been unconscious for what was probably a better part of the journey.

He helped his brother into an upright position and as gently as he could he removed the chainmail, taking care where a broken arrow shaft was sticking through it. But it couldn't be done without jostling the wound and Arthur winced as Harry groaned in pain when the arrow was disturbed.

"You okay?" Arthur grimaced in worry, Harry had gone even paler and his jaw was tense as he clenched his that against the pain.

"Sure. That was nothing. I could probably take you in a fight even now."

Arthur stared at Harry. "You have some nerve!" he said. "You think you could win in a fight with me in your condition?"

"It wouldn't be hard." Harry gave a strained smile. "All I'd have to do is whine a little and you'd forfeit the match, being too worried about me."

Arthur gaped, before he closed his mouth and said; "I wish that wasn't true, but it is, damn it."

"I'd do the same. Always."

The brother's smiled at each other, then Arthur went ahead to help Harry clean up using a rag and the warm water which a servant had come with while they were working on removing Harry's armour. As gently as he could he cleaned away the sweat, blood and grime from his skin, his frown growing deeper for each purple bruise that was laid bare.

"I'm beginning to realise that I came close to loosing you this time," he murmured, wetting the rag again, the blood in it flowing out into the no longer clean water, staining it even darker.

"It was bad," Harry agreed, "but I pulled through and that's the important part. Things happened that I'll always regret, but I have the chance to learn from it and do better in the future."

Arthur shook his head. "You're too…"

"What?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow when Arthur refrained from finishing his sentence.

"Hold on, I'm deciding whether I should compliment you or make fun of you."

Harry snorted, and it turned into a cough. "Then you should take into account that I'm injured, and that you should be feeling sorry for me."

"It was probably all your fault, so… no." It might have been inappropriate to joke around with his brother when he was so weak and injured, but it made Arthur feel better, and he knew the same could be said for Harry. If they could joke it generally meant things weren't as bad as they could be and it was a comfort to use humour. It was their thing and he was grateful for it.

The door to the room swung open and the King walked inside, with the Lady Morgana and Sir Osric at his heels. Uther looked bistre and worried, the corners of his mouth pointing downwards in a frown. He was wearing his crown and ornate clothing, showing that he had just come from greeting Lady Helen.

"Harry!" he said in relief at seeing Harry alive and awake, being taken care off by his brother, though the expression took a sour tone again once he took in how Harry was looking.

Osric immediately went to his brother as the King and Morgana went to Harry.

"Father," Harry said, clearing his throat as best he could. "Morgana. It's so good to see you, both of you."

"Oh, Harry," Morgana stroked his now clean cheek softly, giving him a tearful smile. She was dressed up similarly to the King, wearing a sweeping, deep purple gown. "I've been so worried about you."

"You needn't be. I'll always find my way back home," Harry reassured her, and edge to his voice that Arthur recognized. He knew that Harry was desperate to keep Morgana from crying. His brother couldn't handle a woman in tears, he felt awkward around tears in general, but crying women were worse, because he didn't know how to comfort them.

Arthur felt with him, because he had the same problem. Tears and emotions were hard things to handle. When it concerned Harry it was different. They'd always been there for each other and it never got truly awkward with them, and they both knew how to cheer up their knights, but Morgana was a whole different story and they were more likely to make things worse than better when it came to her.

To Harry's great relief their father spoke before he got the opportunity to make a fool of himself. "What happened, son? Who is responsible for this?" The King's tone was serious and the tone was reflected in his expression.

"My Lords, my Lady," Gaius interrupted them, "it would be best if Harry was allowed to rest for now. He needs all the strength he can get. Once I've attended to his wounds, if they aren't any worse than I expect them to be, he'll be able to return to his chambers. Once he'd had a nights rest you can ask him whatever you like, but until then I advocate restraint."

"It'll be fine," Harry said, "it's not that bad. I can answer anything they need."

Gaius looked at him with a levelled stare. "That was for your benefit too, sire. You mustn't tire yourself unless you wish me to impose bed rest for more than the night. Do not think that I will hesitate to do so."

Harry gulped. He might have placed himself in house arrest once when he was sixteen, but both before and after he had shown little to no respect to healing injuries, and from the Court Physician's perspective that was not all right, even if the Prince had shown remarkable healing properties, often recovering much sooner than what should be possible he should still take care off himself in a proper way.

"Of course, Gaius," the King said, nodding. "Harry shall have his rest."His voice was stern, the words not only an agreement but also an order to Harry, whom he turned back to and stared into the eyes until the injured prince nodded. "How are you feeling, Harry?"

"Not too bad, all things considered." He glanced in the Court Physician's direction. "There are a few things I need to tell you right away." Both the King and Gaius gave him harsh glances. "They cannot wait," he insisted when he saw them, and drew a deep breath to steady himself. "Reinforcements need to be sent out as soon as possible. A force that I estimate to be of at least fifty was headed into the Kingdom. The villages of Néahdún and Ǽdre have been destroyed. We somehow managed to kill about thirty in the second village. But by the time we arrived the rest had already moved on and some fled during the battle. I fear that they will keep destroying villages in our lands until they are dealt with."

Arthur and Uther looked from Harry to each other.

"See to that a company of knights are ready to ride out in the morning."

"Of course, father."

"I promised that we would help the villagers rebuild," Harry continued. "It is our fault that their homes were destroyed. We should have investigated earlier."

Uther sighed, anticipating his youngest son's reaction to the words he were about to speak. "I'm not certain we will be able to honour your promise."

"Why ever not?" Harry asked in a loud tone, staring with blazing eyes at his father through the coughs that rocked his body.

"I am sure you too experienced the storm last night."

"Yes, we did."

"It left its part of destruction in the city, and every man we could dispense with was set to help rebuilding destroyed properties, until their work is complete they cannot go."

"I promised them aid!"

"It is unfortunate that we are unable to do so, but at this time it is impossible."

"I can't believe you! It has to be possible! We have many men at our disposal; all of them cannot be needed in the city. These people require assistance, and it is our duty to provide it!"

"Be quiet, Harry!" Uther roared, making the younger Prince recoil slightly, followed by a grimace of pain. The King closed his eyes, taking care to speak more softy. "It's the end of this discussion. You need rest. Let's speak no more of it tonight."

Harry opened his mouth to continue speaking.

"Let it rest, Harry," Arthur employed. It pained him to see his father and brother arguing. He didn't even know who he should side with on this matter. Both were right. If Harry had made a promise they were bound to it, but the storm had wrought a lot of destruction in the city and it needed to be seen to. They didn't have the option of pleasing everyone, although it pained him to admit it, when he just hours before had been proud of their ability to help their people.

He also didn't want them to fight. As Gaius said Harry needed rest, and getting upset would not help any. His coughing was not nice to hear, and he knew that moving was painful for him.

Harry let out a small sound of disgruntlement. "Then I suppose neither of you are interested in the fact that the men responsible for the attack bore the crest of Cenred."

"Cenred?" Uther's tone changed, holding anger directed at their neighbouring king, as well as worry about the situation, instead of irritation with Harry. "Is he the one responsible?"

"It appears so. If you look in my saddle bags you'll find one of their tunics."

Arthur got up and went to the bag which had been put in the room at some point. He rummaged through it, making a face when he touched a smashed apple, getting sticky from the juice, and he withdrew his hand with a small yelp when he cut his fingers on the edge of a blade.

"Who the hell packed this?" he muttered, grabbing a bandage from one of the tables and binding it around the finger.

"I did," Harry answered a bit sullenly, making Morgana hide a smile behind her hand and Uther suppress a sigh. Though he loved his boys, he sometimes wished they didn't act as much as...boys.

"Figures," Arthur muttered. "You need a servant to do theses things for you," he said and continued to search through the bag.

"How can I argue with that when you seem so happy with yours?" Harry retorted his lips quirking up into a smirk. "How is Morris?"

Arthur didn't answer; instead he turned around with a piece of torn and bloodied, green and gray fabric in his hands, which he presented to his father.

Uther accepted the cloth turning it over in his hands. As he examined it, looking at the embroidered black snake, his expression grew increasingly grim. "I want patrols by the border, day and night. Increase the number of men who will be going after the ones who are already in the Kingdom. I want caught and I want and it made certain that they do not destroy any more villages. I want them interrogated, we must find out what they know."

"It will be done," Arthur said with a court nod.

"Why would Cenred be attacking us?" Morgana asked, a wrinkle appearing between her dark eyebrows. "I remember all the meeting between you. It was tense but you both wanted peace, if you hadn't wanted it the negation hadn't been possible."

"It appears he has changed his mind," Uther growled. "And he will regret it dearly. Sir Osric!"

Osric rose from his kneeling position by his brother's side, though he did so reluctantly. "Yes, sire?"

"I want you to lead the company searching for the force headed into the Kingdom."

For a second he looked like he wanted to protest, his eyes searching out the unconscious form of his brother. Then his shoulders sagged in defeat. "Of course, my Lord."

"But father, I thought I would…" Arthur began to protest.

"You'll be staying in the city during the celebrations. Afterwards we'll see."

Arthur lowered his head in submission. There was no brokering when his father used that voice. "Yes, sire."

"I'm ready to have a look at your wounds now, Harry." Gaius announced, defusing the tension. "I've done everything I can for Sir Edric."

"Will he be all right?" Harry asked looking over at his injured friend.

"It's hard to say. It could go both ways now, but I wouldn't have too much hope. It is possible that his right lung has been punctured and if so it is likely that it will slowly fill with fluids, causing him to die from asphyxiation. It is also likely that he is suffering from internal bleeding, something I haven't been able to ascertain. As he hasn't been coughing up blood I cannot be sure, but as I said it is very likely judging by the wounds he has sustained. If the bleeding is only mild, he should be able to pull through, otherwise…"

Harry sighed. "I understand, thank you Gaius."

"Do what you can for him, will you?" Sir Osric said, in a choked voice.

"I will. Well then, let's take care off that arrow, for you Harry. Arthur, my Lord, if you could hold him down so that he doesn't twitch while I remove it. This would have been so much easier if the shaft wasn't broken."

"I had no choice at the time."

"I understand that, yet it does complicate things."

"Let's just get it done."

_.oOo._

The dungeon was not a nice place. It was cold, it was damp, the straw on the floor smelled of mould and the thin sheets of rough fabric that were to be used as blankets were barely enough to cover even a leg.

Somehow Merlin had fallen asleep despite all that, covering under his jacket to keep some of his body warmth, wishing that he could be more or less anywhere else.

Before he fell asleep he had been thinking about how he had ended up there and the scene had followed him into his dreams. He should have known better than to argue with that man. Even had he not been Prince Arthur it had been clear that he belonged to the noble caste and nobodies like himself had no business talking up to knights.

He should have known better considering the reason why he was in Camelot in the first place, and following the warning Gaius had given him. Sure he hadn't used magic, but part of keeping safe so that no one would find out about his abilities was going unnoticed. Defying the ways of the rich and noble by talking back was not the best way to do it.

"Merlin!" Merlin woke with a start and got up from the floor where he thought the sound had come from. He wasn't certain though. He'd not been completely awake so he hadn't been able to process the information. He stared at the floor, seeing only the straw he had spent his night sleeping on.

"Merlin!" There it was again. Someone was definitely calling his name.

"Merlin!" A rumbling voice that sounded as though it should vibrate through his body, he couldn't here it with his ears though.

"Merlin!" It was all in his mind. And at the same time he was certain that he could tell where it was coming from.

"Merlin!" It _was_ coming from below, penetrating the floor of the dungeon. He placed his ear to the ground, trying to see if he was right, to see if it war really coming from beneath.

"Merlin!"

Merlin got to his feet, stumbling as he did so. This time it was Gaius who had called his name, making the young man feel a bit stupid, both about his behaviour right now, which Gaius hopefully hadn't seen and his behaviour the previous day.

The door to the cell was opened and Gaius stepped in, looking much like Merlin feared.

Merlin smiled sheepishly as the older man began to rant, before he was filled with happiness as Gaius said that he'd been able to use a favour or two to get him out of the prison, followed by a light sense of dread as he was informed that there would be another price to pay.

_.oOo._

Merlin was very grateful to Gaius for getting him out of the dungeons. Truly he was, but he wasn't all that delighted at being stuck in the stocks.

He blinked away the juice of rotten cabbage that was running into his eyes, and groaned as what he was hit him on the side of the head, hard, with what he was pretty certain was a beet. And it hadn't been fun when Gaius walked passed, laughing at him, either. But perhaps he deserved it, it had really been stupid of him to try and hit the Prince. He should have known when to quit.

What had been a bit better was when Guinevere had come up to him, saying that she hadn't had a change to introduce herself that night and that she'd seen him stand up to Arthur, thinking it very brave of him to do so. It had made him feel a bit better about himself, even as she expressed her opinion on him not being a _muscle-y, save the world sort of fellow_. She seemed to be a nice person and with a little luck he would have gained a new friend in her.

As the few children who were returning again and again to strike him with rotten vegetables and fruit were away, Merlin took a few moments to think about the voice he had been hearing. At first he had thought that he had just dreamed it, but after hearing it again in the dungeon this morning he could no longer believe the same. Someone was calling for him and he wanted to know who this someone was and if it meant trouble for him.

He could only conclude that magic was involved in some way. Otherwise he wouldn't be able to hear the voice inside his mind, but who would know of him? And what did they want form him? He wished that he knew.

Thinking about what Gaius would think he was feeling conflicted. He should probably stay away from the person whom the voice belonged to, if it even was a _person_, but he knew that his curiosity would get the better of him sooner rather than later, and he reasoned that it was better to have all the facts than there being someone knowing about him, while he deliberately kept himself in the dark, so if he got the chance he would get all the information he could.

Merlin groaned when the children came back, and tilted his head so that the new batch of cabbage and… was that onions? wouldn't hit his face. He really didn't want any of the onion juice to get into his eyes, he'd be crying for sure as the acid formed and it was not something he wanted to experience.

He could feel pieces of the vegetables getting stuck in his hair, and he drew in a breath when something got inside his ear, then he wish he hadn't for when he opened his mouth a piece of mouldy carrot came into his mouth, making him choke.

"I can't believe this is happening," he muttered miserably once he'd spat it out. He followed it up by more spitting to get the awful taste off his tongue, but he wasn't close to succeeding, feeling his throat contradict as his gag reflex got to work.

His misery didn't end there though. He looked up and felt his stomach drop, barely managing to suppress another audible groan. A man who just had to be the Prince was walking his way. There was no mistaking the blond hair, or proud face, through his gait was a bit differently from what he remembered he seemed to be limping, each time he put down his left leg he twitched a bit as if the movement was painful.

He supposed that the prat had come to make fun of him. It would be just perfect. He couldn't even be left alone to suffer through his humiliation; the Prince just had to come and watch and make it all worse.

"Come to gloat, have you? Couldn't leave it well enough alone?" he called making the Prince pause. An expression of puzzlement flickered across his face and he walked up to Merlin. As he came closer it was unmistakable who he was. Though he was dressed simply, Merlin could see that the cloth, as well as the cut and the workmanship of the clothes were of the highest quality, showing that he was indeed a prince of Camelot.

The hair was the same, as was the jaw and broad shoulders. There was a bruise on the side of his chin though that hadn't been there before, if he remembered correctly and there was the limp. Perhaps he'd gotten into a fight he couldn't win. It would be no more than he deserved.

"Why would I gloat?" the Prince asked, crossing his arms across his chest, making a slight grimace as he did so, and he tilted his head lightly to the side, like a confounded dog. The comparison amused Merlin.

"It seemed to be your style," he answered.

"My style?" he blinked. "Excuse me I don't think we've met. I just returned to the city late last night and since then I certainly haven't been gallivanting about having a chance to… erm… make any trouble, let alone making any new acquaintances."

"What?" Merlin said uncomprehendingly.

"Why are you in the stocks?"

"What?"

The man, who had to be Prince Arthur trying to have a go at him, chuckled lightly. "Let's start with something simple. My name is Harry. What is yours?"

Merlin gaped.

"Is something the matter?"

"I- ehum. Aren't you Prince Arthur? If you're having me on please say so. I don't want any more trouble."

The man stilled for a second before he began to laugh. It took the man, Harry, some time to calm down and then he shook his head, grin still firmly in place. "I see now. I do get mistaken for him a lot."

"I could have sworn that you were him. You look very much alike."

"So I've been told. So is the Prince responsible for your predicament?"

"Yes, I suppose you could say that."

"Hmm. So what did you do?"

"Nothing much."

"Oh, but you must have done something to deserve being pelted with rotten vegetables."

Merlin hesitated, still not sure if this was the Prince having him on, or if it was a different man actually named Harry. He supposed telling the truth wouldn't hurt, he'd already done the crime and simply repeating what he'd done shouldn't get him in any more trouble. Hopefully.

"I might have called the Prince an ass," he mumbled.

To his surprise the blond man in front of him let out another roaring laugh. "I would have loved to see that!" he wheezed out. "That shouldn't be punished; such an act should be rewarded!"

Merlin felt like he was missing something. "What?"

"He can be something of a prat."

Merlin looked incredulously at the man who he was beginning to believe wasn't the Prince. Arthur didn't seem the type to laugh at himself. Let alone call himself a prat. "Perhaps you shouldn't say such things," he cautioned. "You might end up making me company here."

Harry snorted out a laugh, but didn't answer. "So who is it that I have the pleasure to speaking with? Who is the one brave enough to insult a Prince of Camelot?"

"I'm Merlin, pleased to meet you."

Whatever Merlin had expected what followed wasn't it. The man paled a couple of shades, turning slightly ashen, making the bruise more pronounced and his expression drained of mirth, making him look solemn and serious.

"Merlin?" he repeated. "Your name is Merlin?"

"Yes, it is."

"I see."

The man closed his eyes, for a second, Merlin looking on, trying to figure out what was going on. He appeared to be at once afraid and exited, which was strange to put it mildly. When Harry opened his eyes again, Merlin though he could see them glowing gold for a brief moment, but it might also have been a trick of the light. Then he felt a tingling in his fingers, the feeling swept through him, leaving him a bit breathless.

Magic had just been performed, and the magic was reminiscent of the magic he had felt in the rain. It had the same flavour, yet not really. He could best compare it to food, and he would say that the dish had the same main ingredient, but at the same time the two courses were nothing alike. It was strange and he didn't have enough experience with other magic than his own to be able to tell.

The man was looking expectantly at him, making Merlin suspicious that he had been the one to use magic just now. He made sure to not move a muscle, knowing that it was safer to pretend to be ignorant, weather this man was the source of the magic or not. He'd try to find out more before doing anything.

"Are you okay?" he asked in lieu of reacting, referring back to when the man had closed his eyes, pretending that it had made him look faint.

"I'm fine," the man said shortly and there was a hint of disappointment flashing across his features, but it was gone just as soon as it had appeared, making Merlin think that it might have been a trick of the light too. Nothing was certain at the moment.

"Just a little sore," the man continued a bit absentmindedly, pressing a hand at his left shoulder. "I'll have to go see Gaius again I think."

"Gaius?" Merlin questioned. "Are you injured?"

"Nothing too bad. Though I am sure he believes I shouldn't be here. Hmm. Well then, Merlin," he pronounced his name with care, his tongue rolling over every letter with care. "I shall see that you are released sooner and if you meet Arthur again, do not hesitate to take him down a peg or two, God knows he needs it."

With those words the man left, leaving Merlin completely baffled and a bit apprehensive. It didn't matter if he tried to avoid trouble, it seemed determined to find him.

* * *

**End Chapter 11**

* * *

**AN 17th July 2013:**

Ladies and Gentlemen; Merlin and Harry have met!

I don't know if it was all you wished it would be, but there you have it. I _do _hope you liked it. I know I got close to the series again, with a few scenes, but I think I handled it well by retelling it by having the characters think about it. Let me know what you thought and I'll try to have the next chapter ready soon.

PS. Once again I've broken the record for longest chapter in this story.


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